


Night Shift

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medical, Arc Reactor Angst, Boys Kissing, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Cracky Undertones, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Gen, Hand Jobs, Hurt Tony Stark, Inspired by a Movie, Iron Man 1, M/M, Male Slash, Medical Inaccuracies, Other, Possible OOC Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6397063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2008, Tony Stark's life underwent some drastic changes.<br/>During the struggle of reinventing himself and his ideals, one person might make all the difference:<br/>Doctor Bruce Wayne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ... or: “An AU where The Batman never happened, and Bruce Wayne is wearing white instead of black while helping people.”
> 
> I'm not sure if this has been done before or not - and I totally blame the movie 'Laurel Canyon' for putting this plot bunny in my head. Oh, and Batsocks, of course! The darling enabler without whom this most likely would have never made it onto paper. 
> 
> Final plea of author: All Batman lovers may forgive me or pass on this one; this is not the Bruce Wayne you might be looking for. Please also forgive any medically related mistakes - this is not my field of expertise, I am no native speaker, and I cry easily.

His current shift had gone rather uneventful so far. He had treated a young woman in her early thirties with minor stitches to her left hand, after her unsuccessful attempt at slicing an avocado, had given out prescriptions for a stomach bug plagued mother of two, and supervised a dehydrated elder gentlemen from a retirement home.  
  
On top of that, he had also warded off several, not-so-subtle attempts at flirting from the, by all means, attractive thirty-something, avoided his shoes getting spewed upon by the other female patient, and listened with endless patience to the senior who told him about WWII. All in all, it had been a truly relaxed night shift at Cedars Sinai, LA for Bruce Wayne, M. D.

The young, ambitious doctor was an emergency medicine physician, originating from Gotham City. Four years of undergraduate training, four years of medical school, and three years of residency in emergency medicine in his hometown had shaped him for his profession. It would have made his long-deceased father proud, Bruce was sure.

“Doctor Wayne?”  
He looked up from where he sat munching on a cold turkey and ham sub.  
“Mhm?”

“Minor burns patient, just in. Responsive, no sedatives needed. Partial thickness depth.”  
  
Stuffing the remains of his sandwich into his mouth, he stood up and threw the crumpled wrapper into the trash bin next to the door. “I'm coming.” One wipe to the front of his scrubs, then Bruce slipped his white coat back on and followed the nurse down the aisle. “What type of burns?” As they marched side by side, Bruce threw a look at the chart she presented him with.  
  
“Mostly electrical, part flames.”  
With a final nod, Bruce entered the room.  
His patient turned out to be a face the young doctor had seen before; two nights prior to be exact.  
  
A man in his thirties, with dark brown hair and eyes, sat on the stretcher, his jeans-clad legs steadily dangling in mid-air. His left arm was a burnt mess from mid-shoulder down to the wrist, and he had slipped off the sleeve of his hoodie to keep the area exposed, wearing what looked to be a black wifebeater underneath. At Bruce's entry, he raised his head. In an instant, his whole countenance lit up.

“Ha, look who's here again! Eh, what's up, doc?”  
Bruce's mouth quirked in unwanted amusement at the Bugs Bunny intonation.  
He went to hold his hands under one of the automatic sanitizer dispensers and rubbed the spray into his skin.

“I feel a strong sense of deja vu here, Mister Stark.”  
His patient smirked and ran the back of his bruised hand over a soot-stained cheekbone.  
“What can I say? It's clearly not my most stellar week.”

Mouth silent but eyes full of reproach, Bruce Wayne drew an exam stool closer, plopped onto it, and clicked his penlight. He wheeled over to where his patient sat, and started assessing his pupil response. Once he seemed satisfied, the doctor drew back, putting the pen away. “Any concomitant injuries like falls, explosion, traffic accident?” Those dark brown eyes darted sideways, blinking rapidly.  
  
“Nah, just gotten too close to the boiling pasta pot.”

Doctor Wayne cast him a look that spoke volumes as he switched on the shadowless examination lamp above and pulled one of the heavy trolleys closer. “You're boiling your pasta with high voltage? What are you – a crazy show cook or a mad scientist?” He grabbed a pair of sterile latex gloves and slipped them on. Stark gave a pending hum and cocked his head.  
  
“Jury's still out. Maybe a bit of both. I do a mean pasta carbonara though. You're invited next time.”  
Doctor Wayne's response was a noncommittal, brief smirk.  
“I think I'll pass in favor of my health, but thank you.”

With interest, Stark watched him apply cool, sterile saline towels to the most prominent burns.  
“You're a regular on the night shift? I might go and get myself a loyalty card for your services.”  
Bruce rummaged in another drawer and produced a cream.  
  
“No such thing as a regular schedule in emergency medicine. You've just gotten lucky.”  
His patient hissed as he felt and watched Bruce applying antibiotic ointment on his burns.  
“Ouch. Lucky? That's one way of putting it.”  
  
With tender fingers, Doctor Wayne began to cleanse the minor burned areas with mild soap and gentle scrubbing. When he looked up, his patient was not watching his actions, but him instead. It prompted the doctor to clear his throat. “Tetanus status? If you're not sure, I could provide an ADT booster, just in case.“  
  
“Nah, I'm good. So no pasta? I'd leave out the industrial high voltage kinky stuff just for you.”

Bruce moved on to wrap his mangled upper arm with antimicrobial dressing and overlooked his advances. “These generally take 2-3 weeks to heal. Scarring may occur if healing is delayed.” No sooner than he was done, the dark-haired man inspected the bandaged area from his wrist up to his armpit. “Ah, but if - I'll spin a great tale on how I arm-wrestled with a grizzly or something.”  
  
All professional, Wayne put the used instruments and materials back where they belonged. "Remember the burn will look worse in 2-3 days, so arrange an early follow up in the next 48-72 hours.” With a beatific smile, the shorter man slipped off the stretcher and shrugged back into his hoodie jacket. “If it means you're around for the follow-up, I might actually show up.”

Bruce scribbled something on his notepad to avoid awkward eye contact.  
“Ego as large as ever, I see.”  
He all but heard his patient break out into an even wider grin.  
  
“It goes well with everything else.“  
Their eyes met one last time before Bruce left the room.  
“ Good night, Mister Stark.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Are we recording? Are you recording, J?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Good. So it's day 9, test 36, configuration 2.0. Gonna see about those thrusters today."

"Pretending to be able to fly again, Sir?"

"Who on earth programmed all this snark into you, Jarvis?"

"I believe it was you, Sir."

"Yeah, right. It's a good thing Dummy here doesn't pick up on your bad habits. Huh, buddy?" With a loving pat to the robot's swinging arm, Tony clanked into position. The jetpack boots were heavy, and he gripped the manual ignition handles tight. “All right. Everyone in position. In three... two... one...”

When Tony came back to consciousness, it was already dark outside. With groggy motions, he slipped off the metal boots and lolled around on the cold, concrete floor of his workshop, until he felt stable enough to get into a sitting position. “Ouch – fuck. Jarvis? What's the verdict?”  
  
“Analyzing from the velocity and angle your head hit the concrete beam on the ceiling, it is safe to say you are suffering from an at least mild concussion, Sir. It might be wise to seek medical treatment. Shall I contact Miss Potts to arrange proper transportation?” Tony eventually made it to his feet and probed the palpable bump on the back of his head with tender fingers.

“What time is it?”

“It is 10:18 pm, Sir.”  
Determined eyes flew over to where his Audi R8 sat in its parking space.  
“I would kindly advise you not to try and maneuver a sports car in your current condition, Sir.”

“Point taken. Call a cab.”

“Where to, Sir?”

“Cedars Sinai.”

* * *

Bruce Wayne shouldered his backpack and stepped up to the doors of the tram.  
  
His daily commute to work, using line 20 downtown, took him 50 minutes, single route. He made use of the time by listening to audio books on medicine or zen Buddhism. With his usual shifts from 11 – 7, Bruce saw a lot of peculiar and even perilous situations on public transportation. So far, his broad physique and at the same time inconspicuous behavior had managed to keep him out of trouble.  
  
Still, Bruce knew better than to neglect those regular jujitsu classes with the Pacific Jujitsu Kai each Sunday afternoon, from 3 to 5:30 pm, at Marine Park. The membership was kind of a treat, with him choosing to live on a budget, and so Bruce made sure to make use of the free equipment at Muscle Beach often to save money.  
  
He entered staff room at 10:45 pm and nodded into a round of familiar and non-familiar faces. In the corner, a young doctor sat with a nurse, acting out what was commonly called a sleep-deprived boastfest, imparting that information to anyone who was around. Next to them, Rachel Dawes sat reading a book. Her other hand was curled around a mug, and she rose it to her mouth without looking.  
  
“Please, Jonathan - neither Holly or I care about your pain, okay?”

The two nurses shared a brief, conspirative grin to which the skinny doctor pushed his glasses up and busied himself peeling an apple. Rachel then spotted Bruce, and her whole demeanor lit up. “Hey, good evening. How are you?” The two had studied at medical school together, bonding over the fact they both were from Gotham. Rachel had been very inclined to working in Los Angeles after hearing about Bruce's plans.  
  
“Alright, yourself?”  
She nodded, closed her book and went to put it into her locker.  
“Well, I'm off - first round security checks. Night shift – the definition of insanity.”  
  
Rachel smiled one more time at him, re-fastened her ponytail, and disappeared. Casting a look over to where nurse Quinn and Doctor Crane were still sitting, Bruce smirked. “Cheer up, Crane, c'mon. It's not so bad.” The other doctor wrapped the remains of his apple into a tissue and threw it into a nearby bin. “All this will pass. Death is coming to all of us. Even the universe itself is dying a heat death.”

That was when Bruce gladly took his leave upon hearing an announcement over the speakers. It was calling for someone to check on a patient who had just been admitted with a head injury. When he entered the room, the Gothamite had to bite his tongue to refrain from groaning out loud.

“Mister Stark.”  
Tony glimpsed up at him, winced a bit, and smirked.  
“Doctor trifecta right there.”

Wayne kept a potentially wrongful answer to himself and started his physical examination. After he had assessed Tony's reflexes and mental status, the doctor gave an affirmative hum. “A bit slow on the response, but nothing of major concern.” Bruce then tilted Tony's head to check for any bleeding from ears or nose.  
  
Finding none, he hunkered down to examine his patient for bruising around the eyes or behind the ears; injuries commonly seen with certain types of fractures to the base of the skull. Upon the miserable figure on the gurney, Wayne straightened back up and cast his patient a gauging look. “You may lay down Mister Stark.” Tired and wan, Tony did as he was told.  
  
“Loss of consciousness, nausea, or vomiting?“  
The gurney was cold and smelled sterile. Tony closed his eyes.  
“First one yes, second one... a bit. Last one – no.”  
  
“Are you currently taking any kind of medication? Especially Warfarin or platelet inhibitors?”  
  
“No, no, and no.”  
Scribbling erupted.  
“Any prior head injury or concussion, neurological injury, or surgeries?”  
  
Keeping his face blank, Tony declined, trying hard not to think of Yinsen. He heard the doctor shuffle and rummage around, until he caught a faint whiff of a clean, fresh scent. Keeping his heavy eyelids closed, Tony sniffed. “You smell nice. What is it?” The bafflement that followed resounded heavily through the room. “N...autica Voyage.” From the way Stark furrowed his brows, it became clear he had never heard of it.  
  
A knock on the door interrupted their lopsided conversation. A young, dark-haired nurse entered, carrying a clipboard and her hair in a ponytail. Bruce Wayne nodded at her questioning look. “SCAT-2 score needs to be completed. We'll do some basic neurological tests and a CT scan to rule out a more serious injury.” The nurse nodded and scribbled along.  
  
“If you want me to, I can do a VNG for visual motor function as well, Bruce.”  
Wayne flipped through the pages she held out into his direction for a signature.  
“Yes, thank you Rachel.”  
  
Stark cast her a glum stare she missed out upon, seeing she was smiling at the other man. In the end, Tony got sent home with instructions to stay awake for several hours, and a well-meant, personal advice from a meanwhile quite tired looking Doctor Wayne. “Make sure to get enough rest for the upcoming days. This includes refraining from exercise, sports, or strenuous mental tasks.”

A glimpse at a large clock upon the wall revealed it was already 2:36 am. Stark blinked and looked at the man in his white coat again. “Does sex count as one of those?” Humorless, Wayne palmed his cheek. “ _Any_ kind of physical activity, if you will.” Tony mock-pouted. “Too bad. Otherwise I would've invited you over after work.” The pout seamlessly morphed into a leer. Wayne remained deadpan.

“An invitation I'd have to decline.”

“Afraid you'd fall asleep on me? No worries. No one ever did, no matter how tired they were.”  
The cab for Tony then stopped in front of the Cedars Sinai.  
“Good night, Mister Stark.”  
  
 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some parts of Tony's and Jarvis' conversation taken from the IM script

“Day 11, test 37, configuration 2.0. For lack of a better option, Dummy is still on fire safety.”

Tony strutted around his workshop, wearing what he had come to label Mark II. The armor was near complete, and he was itching to take it out for a test ride. “Jarvis, you there?” His voice sounded strangely hollow inside the helmet, and Tony fought against a wave of claustrophobia. “At your service, Sir.” Swallowing around a rough feel deep down in his throat, Tony breathed out slowly.  
  
“Engage Heads Up Display. Import all preferences from home interface.”  
  
“Will do, sir.”  
Blue and red holographics loaded right in front of his eyes until the whole visor was filled.  
“All right, what do you say?”

“We are online and ready. Importing preferences and calibrating virtual environment.”  
Satisfied, Tony cast his glance around the 3D animation in front of him, scanning his workshop.  
“Tell you what. Do a weather and ATC check. Start listening in on ground control.”  
  
“Sir, there are still terabytes of calculations needed before an actual flight is...”  
The billionaire listened to the whining pitch as the thrusters set to work.  
“Yeah. Sometimes you got to run before you can walk. We're going up there. Now!”

* * *

Sweat ran down the small of his back as Bruce wrestled the two heavy brown grocery bags from Ralph's back into his arms and pressed the main door open with his shoulder. It was already past 9 pm, and thus his yield held far less fresh produce than he had planned in. Tonight's temperatures were far too stifling for his liking, and he wiped an arm over his forehead after hauling the bags upon the kitchen counter.  
  
After he had restocked the cupboard with canned Ravioli, baked beans, and vegetarian chili, Bruce slipped off his sweated clothes. The mini radio on the bathroom shelf rustled with static noise as usual. From underneath the shower, it took him three tries with dripping wet fingers to get a decent station in. He ended the shower on a tepid note and left for work with an iced coffee from Starbucks on 3rd Street.

Upon entering the Cedars Sinai, Bruce relished the air-conditioned surroundings. He set to work which consisted of an extensor tendon repair at midnight and assisting another doctor during the diagnostic peritoneal lavage of a hemodynamically unstable patient after 2 am. Around 3:55 am, Rachel found him dozing in the staff room, chair tilted back against the wall, feet propped up on a table.  
  
She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, to which Bruce's eyes snapped up instantly. “Huh?” Dawes smiled down at him and gave an affectionate squeeze. “Do you feel up to take care of a case of frostbite? Crane's busy, and I need someone now.” Bleary-eyed, Bruce blinked up at her and his watch and shuffled into a more civilized position. “Sure. What do you have?”

She had to remove her hand when he stood up and took the chart. “Patient displays T34.839, most likely a T34.839A. I've set him up with a tub of water and antibacterial soap. The rest is up to you.” Rachel gave her trademark smirk which emphasized the dimples on her cheeks. “Oh, and I'm sure you're going to have a field day upon this one.”  
  
Unsure as to what she was hinting at, Bruce nodded with a guarded expression before they parted ways outside the corridor. The sight of two propped up, bare feet sticking into his direction greeted him upon his entry. “Good evening...” When the rest of the patient came into view, Bruce frowned. “... oh great. Just great.” A mop of dark hair rose from where it had rested upon the gurney.  
  
“Technically it's already morning, doc. Hiya.”  
Tony gave him a toothy grin and little wave with his right hand.  
“Mister Stark, this is getting kind of awkward.”  
  
“Tell me about it. I swear I showered this morning, but still got smelly feet. The poor nurse almost fainted.”  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose hard for a few seconds, the doctor leaned in to inspect the mangled looking feet that were elevated on sterile sheets. Seeing that the distal tip of the affected areas was already flushed after being thawed, he got himself a pair of sterile gloves and sat down at the end of the gurney. “I'm going to debride those blisters.”  
  
Wayne's matter-of-fact voice got Stark to prop himself up on his elbows. Soon, snorting giggles filled the room. “Hey, I'm ticklish.” The doctor made another grasp for his foot, causing Tony to twitch and wiggle out of his grip. “Hold still.” Faint annoyance resounded in Bruce's voice. Tony did not even notice, least of all commented on it.

“Are you into feet by any chance? Like, uh, the kinky, fetish kind? Toe sucking and such?”  
A withering stare. Bruce Wayne then looked down, counted, and glared up into Tony's face.  
“Six out of your toes suffer from severe frostbite. Care to explain how you managed that?”

“What do you mean 'managed'?”

“It is 83 degrees outside. Unless you went ice fishing in Iceland, it seems rather absurd.”  
Tony scrunched up one side of his face.  
“Oh please, ice fishing in Iceland seems not absurd? I mean, isn't that kinda some pleonasm?”

“Please answer the question, Mister Stark.”

“Oh, erm, yeah. Well, those ridiculous ice sculptures at parties. Know 'em? Man, that was one big ass, ugly carved bird that got me there.”  
  
A well-groomed eyebrow rose.  
“Uh huh.”  
Tony took his opposite's reticence as an invitation to elaborate.  
  
“Kinda heavy, too, when it fell and trapped my foot.”  
“Mhm.”  
“It took _ages_ for someone to arrive to help me up.”  
  
“With a flamethrower, I bet?”  
Bruce pointed at the minor burns on his shins. Tony gave a disarming smile.  
“Good personnel is hard to find these days, y'know?”  
  
Despite being trained in dealing with difficult patients, Wayne could not help but allow the long, suffering sigh to escape his lips. “I know for various reasons that you are not in need of yet another tetanus shot, so I'd kindly advise you to take my advice and get some bed rest.” He went to administer a final dose of analgesics and Ibuprofen to help with the pain on the way home and ignored Stark's dismayed expression.  
  
“But it's so boring all alone in my bed.” As soon as he said it, Tony felt he had involuntarily given away too much information. “I mean... if you'd come by for a flying visit... play footsie with me... that'd be less boring.” Doctor Wayne stopped by the door to spray his hands with disinfectant. A supercilious smirk hushed over his even features.  
  
“Maybe someone with a foot fetish is available to warm your feet short notice.”

“Boo for that answer.”  
  
“Good night, Mister Stark.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, parts of Tony's and Jarvis' conversation are taken directly from the IM script. All credit goes to the respective writers.

Afternoon television sucked, Bruce had long since decided.

Nevertheless, it was his only real option of keeping up with the rest of the world during the daytime, so he made sure to stick with news channels most of the time. As usual, the small TV was droning on in the background while he stood in the middle of his apartment and ironed a multitude of shirts and chino pants. 'Next up, more on an unidentified _robot suit spotted on LA's streets at night. Here, at CNN.'_

Bruce stopped to turn around and watch the blurred footage being shown.  
He shook his head and reached over to switch channels.  
“What a bunch of nonsense.”  
  
The steam iron sizzled and puffed, so Bruce was quick to return to his task.

* * *

“Notes: Main transducer feels sluggish at plus 40 altitude. Hull pressurization is problematic. I'm thinking icing is the probable factor.”  
  
Tony Stark tapped his index finger against his lips as he hung face down from a workout rig in the corner, in between a set of upside down crunches. “A very astute observation, sir. Perhaps we should improve the exosystems.” At Jarvis' suggestion, Tony swung back up one more time, gripped the bars and hopped onto his feet. He shook out arms and legs and snapped two fingers in the air.  
  
“Connect to the sys. co. Have it reconfigure the shell metals. Use the gold titanium alloy from the seraphim tactical satellite. That should ensure a fuselage integrity while maintaining power-to-weight ratio.”

“Right away, Sir. And there is an incoming call from Miss Potts as well.”  
Tony took a seat on his swivel chair and brushed some metal clutter aside.  
“Put her through.... Hey, Pep, whassup?”

“Is this becoming a ritual now? Cause if so, I might just go get a side job as part-time nurse.”  
Pepper's voice sounded shrill over the loudspeakers of his workshop.  
From where his feet were propped up on the table, Tony tenderly touched a spot on the sore area around his left pinkie.  
  
“Can you clarify here for a sec?”

“I'm talking about all those recent visits of yours to the ER. What's going on with you, Tony?”

“Just, err, a bit of an unlucky streak there, hun. This will improve over time, trust me.”

“You are really serious about this... idea of yours.”

“Well, sweetie, the costs of being able to fly and fight and...”

“Don't _sweetie_ me.”

“Oookay...”

“I don't care much for this whole, strange metal costume dress-up.”

“It's a suit. A suit of armor. And it's badass. _I_ am badass.”

“Whatever it is, I don't care, Tony. I care about you and your well-being.”

“And I love you for it, Pep.”

“Please be more careful.”

“Will do, Ma'am.”

As soon as their call ended, Tony drummed his index fingers against the edge of the table.

“She's right, isn't she, J?”

“Miss Potts' concerns regarding your physical health are very valid indeed, Sir.”

“So dialing down on those hospital visits can only mean one thing then.”

“I am unsure as to what you are hinting at, Sir.”

“Hop onto the county portal of Cali, Jarvis, I need you to look someone up for me.”

“Of course, Sir.”

* * *

The address he got was in Santa Monica. It was not what Tony Stark had expected it to be.  
  
1725 Ocean Avenue was a modest, affordable apartment complex with living space for rent. In front of it was a small yard, and much to Tony's luck, a man was hunkering down, gardening. “Good afternoon, doc.” Bruce squinted upwards. Bewilderment crossed slightly reddened features from sun exposure. “How did you get this address?”

The words 'Because I am a genius and moonstruck stalker' wanted to slip from his tongue, so Tony bit his lip, smiled and took off his shades in a fluent motion. “Yellow Pages.” At that, Wayne narrowed his eyes and rose to his feet. He brushed some soil off of his khaki chinos. “Unlikely.” Tony inspected the circumspect work behind the fence that separated him and the doctor.  
  
There were two flower beds with neat rows of parsley, sage, and from what Tony could spot and identify, lavender. Bruce clearing his throat brought him out of his brief reverie. “I have an upgraded, digital version.” His eyes flew back to the small arrangement. “This looks really promising. Didn't peg you to have a green thumb.” Wayne harrumphed. “Patching up people is harder.”  
  
Tony hummed. “And more stressful. I get where you're coming from there.” He made a move to lean forward, putting an elbow on the wooden fence, and struck a casual pose, ankles crossed. “You're missing some mint in your collection.” For emphasis, he blew a greenish bubble with his piece of chewing gum and snapped it with a clack. Wayne also looked back down at his little collection.  
  
“Perennial mints become too invasive for my taste.” His eyes then found Tony's. “Speaking of which...” He left the rest of his sentence in the open, but then Stark broke into a hearty laugh and rocked back and forth on his heels. “No one's ever compared me to mint, nice! You certainly aren't from round here.” Feeling slightly ridiculed, Bruce locked his jaw.  
  
“That's your logical conclusion?”  
Stark broke into a sly grin.  
“Am I right tho?”  
  
Hazel eyes narrowed.  
“Why don't you tell me?”  
Confused, Tony scrunched up his face.  
  
Wayne shrugged, gaining back self-assurance. “If you've been smart enough to get this address, then _that_ should have been a piece of cake for you.” For a second, Tony Stark looked truly abashed. The fingers of his left came up to scratch his cheek. “No, I... hey now, I'm not _that_ much of a creep, okay?” For a little while, Bruce let the awkward silence linger in between them.  
  
At the same time, he squatted back down to pat the soil around the small sprouts of parsley some more. “It's Gotham City.” From where Tony had stared into the distance, trying to come up with something witty, he blinked. “Oh. So you're an east coast fella.” The peculiar way with which Bruce fixated him gave way to an amused little curl of the lip. “I guess you could say that.”  
  
Humming along, Tony took a moment to give a very polite bow and greeting to an elder lady in an upscale, crème-colored costume, passing them by with a pug in matching color that was huffing and wheezing loudly. Both he and Bruce watched the pair move along, until Tony focused back on the man behind the fence.  
  
“Let's stop beating around the bush here. I really would like to show my gratitude for all of your work on my numerous... mishaps from the past weeks”, Tony pointed all over his body. “And that's why I wanted to ask you to go out for some grub together. Dinner, if you will.” After having rambled the whole thing down in one go, Tony drew a deep breath and held it, waiting for his opposite's reaction.  
  
Bruce started gnawing on the corner of his bottom lip and looked at his worn, brown sneakers.  
“I don't go out for dinner a lot. Actually I... never do.”  
Of all things Tony had envisioned as possible declines, Wayne's answer was not among them.  
  
“Why's that? Ahhh, of course not. _Night shift_. My bad.”  
Not about to lose the war after losing one puny battle, Tony was quick to amend to his suggestion.  
“How about coffee and ice cream then? Somewhere of your choice. If you like ice cream, that is.”  
  
The last part was hastily added, upon seeing the hint of doubt creeping up on Wayne's face.  
“Name a single person who doesn't like ice cream.”  
With a tilt of the head Tony pointed a finger at him.

“True that. Take me for instance - I'm the biggest ice cream addict in the world, really.”  
Wayne's eyes darted all over his body and came to rest on his face again.  
“What's your favorite flavor?”

“Neapolitan.”  
A wrinkled up nose and blatant disgust were his initial answer.  
“... you like horrible things.”

“Excuse you?”  
Tony blinked and leaned in as if he had misunderstood. Bruce's visible disdain remained.  
“Neapolitan is for people who don’t know what they are doing with their lives.”

Stark snorted right into his face. “I'm sure you read that off from somewhere. It’s clearly the psychology major of desserts. It gives you options.” Bruce could not help but to snort out in slight amusement. “Maybe you just have the very worst brand of commitment problems.” Tony picked up on the change in behavior and started to grin.  
  
“I think we need to discuss your blasphemous attitude over a huge cup of Neapolitan goodness. Whipped cream's optional.” With a shake of the head, the doctor pulled a face and crossed his arms. “I won't come along unless there are glacial options that aren't touching each other.” The moment Bruce Wayne realized the true meaning of his statement was also the moment Tony Stark broke into a victorious, joyful smile.  
  
“So it's a date then?”  
Bruce actually looked bashful for a second.  
“... okay.”

With a clap, Tony fished his shades from the open collar of his polo shirt and put them back on.  
“Excellent! I'll come pick you up at 4PM tomorrow. That good?”  
A careful nod.  
  
“Yes.”  
A final wink and wave, then Tony was gone.  
“Sweet! Bye, Gotham.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you google 'Neapolitan ice cream rant', you'll find the true origin of Tony and Bruce's strange conversation by Darin Ross. This all just happened, because RDJ likes Neapolitan ice cream (as mentioned in his Vanity Fair interview from October 2014). Yes, I am odd when it comes to my research. Bear with me.


	5. Chapter 5

All that went through Tony's head upon fighting his way through the terrorists' ranks in Gulmira was a singsong mantra of _'I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late'._  
  
Mark III responded beautifully to his commands and sustained Mach 2 all the way back home. Still, once Tony touched back down in his Mansion (armor a bullet-riddled mess with a human body to match underneath), it was already 3:30 in the morning. Pain-filled groans echoed through the workshop after he had peeled himself out of the scorched suit and knelt down on the platform, exhausted.

“What's the verdict, J?”  
  
“Moderate dehydration with 5 % of body fluid loss. Minor burns and bruises to large parts of the extremities. Slight trauma injuries to the chest.”  
  
Nodding to himself, Tony added a missed out date to that list and allowed his AI to call for a cab. His visit to the ER seemed inevitable, for various reasons. No more than thirty minutes later, he sat upon a gurney, sipping from an isotonic drink. Feeling in a haze and accompanied by an unpleasant, sharp ringing in his ears, Tony tried for a sheepish smile when a familiar figure entered the room with brisk strides.  
  
“My favorite person wearing white.”  
All stoic and wordless, Bruce Wayne went through the motions of patching up his bruises.  
“Please remove your shirt so that we can see about the pain in your chest.”  
  
At the detached, cold tone in his voice, Tony blinked, trying to avoid seeing double.  
“I get it, I get it - you're pissed. Fair enough. Can I at least explain?”  
With calm, controlled motions, Bruce reached over to grab a Stethoscope from the top drawer.  
  
“Take off your shirt please and stand up. I want to listen to your lungs and heart functions.”  
Squirming, Tony slipped off the stretcher and put it in between him and Bruce's looming figure.  
“Na-uh, I don't... I don't want that. It's... I'm good, okay? I'm good. I don't need...”  
  
Exasperated, Bruce proceeded to walk around the gurney. He reached into his pocket and produced a blood pressure meter. “Mister Stark, please stop and let me have a look. You look like you are about to...” With a wheezing breath, Tony backed away further, jabbing a finger into Bruce's direction. “Nonono, not... not this 'Mister Stark' shit, kay? I... look, I fucked up, but I had... no... other... _ungh!”_

In a matter of seconds, Tony dropped to the floor like a wet rag.  
  
He neither heard the doctor calling out to him, nor saw Bruce Wayne jumping over the gurney to start going into the motions of controlled CPR. As soon as he had bunched the heavy black fabric of Stark's shirt up to his chin, Bruce all but recoiled. A blue glowing circle sat embedded in Stark's chest, raising out of his sternum by a good inch. A faint hint of ozone reached his nostrils, as well as a quiet hum.  
  
“What in everything that's holy...”  
He pulled the mesh fabric back down as his medical training kicked in.  
Being unable to perform a cardiac massage, Bruce Wayne went for straight rescue breathing instead.

Once Tony woke, the feel of something warm and soft was on his lips. Lifting an eyelid, Tony was met with the Gothamite giving him mouth to mouth; fingers pinching his nose shut. Stark then tentatively opened his mouth to slip his tongue in between the doctor's unsuspecting mouth. A low noise from the back of Wayne's throat, then he drew back, lightning fast.  
  
“What the...?!”  
Tony blinked a second eye open and cracked a not quite guilty smile.  
“Fairly decent - but considering I was only awake for half of it, I demand a repetition.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“The kiss we shared. The one you initiated.”

“Excuse you?! I did _nothing_ like that! It's called CPR for heaven's sake.”

“Are you just professional on the job, or rather... uh... emotionally stunted?”

“What was that?”

Bruce had gotten back to his feet, tentatively pulling his patient along. Tony huffed.

“My Sleeping Beauty to your knight in shining white armor says you're definitely interested.”

_"Dr. Wayne, 354, please. Dr. Wayne, 354. Thank you."_

Both looked up at the tinny sound. Relief tugged at Bruce's lips.  
He pressed a prescription into Tony's hand and put up a determined face.  
“I need to go. Get home, take the painkillers, and get plenty of rest.”

A whoosh of a long white coat, then he was gone. Tony stared after him, lost in thought.

* * *

Four days later, Bruce was out running on the beach. It was a sunny and fairly breezy Saturday afternoon, and he relished the fact that he was not due at the hospital until Sunday night. Watching the glittering waves of the ocean in the distance, Bruce tried to clear his mind. After Tony Stark had been released from the ER, Bruce had debated high and low with himself.  
  
He had chosen not to add the peculiar detail about the strange installation in Stark's body to his file, knowing fully well the risks of getting in trouble for withholding vital patient information. During a quiet shift two nights ago, he had made use of the Cedars' internet access to google a certain, dark-haired individual. Wayne then spent almost all of the remaining night shift in front of the computer.  
  
Finding out as much as he could about the rich eccentricity that was billionaire playboy Anthony Edward Stark was very eye-opening to Bruce. At first, he was taken aback by the multitude of gossip, interviews, and pictures he found – it also was a very good thing the hospital blocked YouTube videos by default, or he would have most likely witnessed something NSFW to taint his professional judgment for the worse.  
  
The latest, real news on Stark was of his recent return from being captivated in Afghanistan. It was then that Doctor Wayne started to feel uncomfortable. Quick to clear his browsing history, he went over to where a 9-year-old with a broken clavicle had just been brought in.

None other than the source of his circling thoughts sat waiting for him in front of his apartment when he returned a sweaty mess. Stark was draped across the broad set of stairs leading up to the housing complex, eyes hidden behind huge dark shades, and grinned at him from far away. “There you are. You know, I was starting to wonder whether you've changed your shift.”

Beads of sweat ran down Bruce's heated face, and he wiped them away. “I don't remember inviting you.” A Cheshire grin. “Nah, you're right. But I was in the area, and in the mood for coffee, and so...” Bruce noticed two Starbucks cups sitting in a cup holder on the side. Tony followed his line of vision. “Sadly, with all the unplanned wait, I drank em both. Good thing I didn't bring ice cream along, too.” Wayne's lips twitched.

“At least I escaped the Neapolitan hell. And you're decently caffeinated now.” With a little grunt, Tony shifted. “Among other things.” He pulled a face. “Can I come up? Been sitting here forever since I brought these,” he raised the two now empty cups. “And now I really, really gotta pee.” With a sigh, Bruce nodded and started to fumble for the little key pocket of his running shorts inside the waistband.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
In an instant, Stark had hopped to his feet, grabbed the trash, and followed him.


	6. Chapter 6

The studio apartment on the ground floor was no bigger than 450 square feet, featured a separate bathroom with a moderate shower cabin, and a built-in kitchenette. After a first visual sweep, Tony nodded. “Cozy place.” Bruce threw his key ring into the box upon a nearby sideboard and pointed along with his chin. “Restroom's over there.” Stark pushed the empty coffee cups into his hands and went to lock the door behind him.  
  
Bruce disposed of the waste and removed his shoes to air them outside on the terrace. A flush of the toilet and running water from the sink minutes later, then Tony re-emerged with a sigh. “Much better.”  Wayne meanwhile stood a bit lost in the middle of the room and scratched the back of his head. “I, erm, really need to shower now.” Stark nodded emphatically and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  
  
“Course, yeah, you're leaving sweat stains everywhere”. He cheekily pointed at the oak laminate. “Don't mind me – I'll wait here.” A bout of refusal hushed over Wayne's features, but Stark did not notice, too busy examining the small but clean studio loft with great interest. When Bruce still made no move, Tony gestured vaguely into the air.  
  
“That is if you're not expecting company or something?”  
Never a good liar, Wayne shook his head. More sweat drops landed on the floor. Stark beamed.  
“Great! So go ahead, wash up. Shoo, shoo. I promise I won't go peeping tom on you.”

Wondering why he did not just demand the other man to leave, Bruce collected a set of fresh underwear and clothes from his closet and reminded himself to lock the bathroom door. As he stood under the pleasant torrent of water, soaping himself clean, he pondered his options. Mind made up ten minutes later, Bruce turned off the water, toweled himself dry and applied his usual grooming routine.  
  
As soon as he had slipped into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt, he unlocked the door and looked for his guest. Tony had meandered out onto the small patio, overlooking what had meanwhile grown into a quite impressive little gardening area. When he spotted him, Stark was quick to turn back inside, leaning one shoulder against the open patio door.  
  
“I really like your place, y'know?”  
  
There was no hint of mockery in his words. Feeling beyond awkward, Bruce waved into the general direction of the kitchen. “Do you... want anything to drink, maybe?” Tony pushed out his bottom lip, playfully pensive. “Anything but coffee.” He laughed out loud at his own joke. “What else do you have?” Wandering over to his fridge, Bruce hunkered down.  
  
“Water or milk.”

He was quick to slam the door shut before Stark could catch a glimpse of the rather sparse state that prevailed inside. He really needed to go and get some decent grocery shopping done soon. From where he stood, Tony made a disapproving sound. “Yuck.” Exasperated, Bruce rose to his feet, which prompted his left knee to respond with a soft pop.  
  
“Then it's chamomile tea.”  
  
Not about to initiate another discussion, he filled the electric kettle and put it on before he rummaged through cupboards and closets for two mugs and tea bags. To his left, Stark gave a quiet chortle. “Oh-so healthy, doctor.” He then moved to close the patio door behind him and walked over to where Bruce stood, waiting for the water to boil.  
  
Peeking around the broad set of his shoulders, Tony positioned himself so close behind that Bruce was able to feel his breath on his neck. “Do you need sugar?” Wayne had to cough against a little lump in his throat. Stark hummed a negation. “I'm sweet enough.” It caused Bruce to snort in meek amusement. Tony gave a little nudge to the small of his back.  
  
“Hey, what was that?”  
The kettle stopped boiling with a small plop, and Bruce busied himself pouring them their teas.  
Stark was still encircling him, hands left and right on the counter.  
  
“Seriously. Do I detect objection there?” One final look at the steaming mugs, the Gothamite eventually turned around to face him. A hesitant but smug grin made him curl his lips. Tony fastened his eyes on the movement. “No. I wouldn't dare to argue with the man who's inside that super-advanced, mechanic suit.” In an instant, Tony's eyes hardened, and his whole body went rigid.  
  
“What did you just say?” The doctor's expression never wavered. “That thing inside your chest – it looks like the one on that suit they've shown on TV. As far as I would go and take a wild shot - that's no coincidence.” Their eyes darted within each other for a few heartbeats, proximity still unbroken. Then Tony leaned in, pushing himself up on his toes. A dangerous glint lay in his gaze.  
  
“You are a smart, smart man, Doctor Wayne.”  
His breath ghosted over Bruce's chin.  
“I really like smart men.”

Involuntarily, Bruce found himself pulling back: His hands gripped the edge of the counter, close to the ceramic mugs. “Watch out, the water's hot.” Despite his mumblings, Tony's face zoomed in closer, until all that Bruce was able to focus on were his absurdly white, even teeth. “Not the only hot thing in here.” They were meanwhile standing so close that their thighs touched.  
  
Stark gently forced his legs in between those of his prey, nudging them apart so that he was able to dip his pelvis close to Wayne's. The latter made no move to flee but tilted his head away to escape the impending result. “Careful there, or you're going to get burnt.” Tony's hands wound up atop his own, warm and sturdy, and gave a strong squeeze. “A risk I'm willing to take.”  
  
“Are you now?”  
Bruce sounded teasing, even if his voice had gone down to something close to a whisper.  
“I know there's someone capable around to patch me up.”

The kiss he applied to the pair of stunned and silent lips was an almost chaste one, compared to Tony Stark's usual standards and go-to methods. Bruce Wayne's eyes fluttered shut just mere seconds before he began to respond in the same, cautious manner. At some point, Stark's hands moved to wind themselves around Wayne's torso as he deepened their kiss; tongue probing and getting the desired access soon after.  
  
Bruce's hands had gone from hanging limply at his sides to reaching up and cupping Tony's face, holding him in place.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-hum, that escalated quickly.. and now we're going from 0 to 10 real quick in this one, be warned.

When they came up for air, both were a little breathless. The corners of Tony's mouth quirked.  
“I think I'm running a fever, doctor. I'm burning up.”  
Having heard his fair share of bad medical innuendo over the years, Bruce was unimpressed.  
  
“Maybe I should go and take your temperature then.”  
From where Tony had kept on nibbling on his neck, he stopped and nodded.  
“Great idea. Let me get an appropriate... thermometer.”

Without warning, he got down on his knees, dragged the waistband of Bruce's sweatpants along, and swallowed the half-mast erection hidden inside. His reward was a long, drawn-out moan from Wayne, whose head tilted back against the hanging cupboards with a dull thud.

“Oh Lord.. oh, f-... Oh, God!”   
  
Bruce gripped onto the counter like a lifeline, panting out incoherent bits and pieces. Stark released his cock to glimpse up with an impish expression. “Tony's perfectly fine, thank you.” Unable to form a retort, Wayne also missed out on his look as he kept his eyes squeezed shut.  
  
Tony Stark was quite skillful with his mouth; so much that Bruce had to bite down on his bottom lip hard to prevent himself from groaning out too loud for his neighbors to hear. When he felt his orgasm building fast, Wayne tried to give a warning by tapping on Tony's hair.

“I'll... I'm going to...”  
Once more the warm, wet feeling got briefly replaced by an equally gifted hand.  
“I certainly hope so.”

With one fist tightly twisted within the dark mop of hair, Bruce came minutes later, shaking against the kitchenette, trying hard not to tear out the other man's scalp or thrust into his mouth. Tony swallowed patiently and with enough expertise to not gag or spill afterward. While Bruce managed to stand, albeit on quivering legs, and forced his equilibrium and breathing back under control, Tony rose with a smug expression.  
  
He grasped for one of the forgotten mugs of tea, slurped a sip, and watched the flushed countenance with satisfaction. “You good?” Cracking an eye open, Wayne said nothing at first and fumbled his pants back up. “This...” Tony's eyebrow rose. “Yes?” Bruce exhaled. “This was... I'll never be able to look at chamomile tea the same way again.” Stark grinned around the rim of his cup before putting it aside.

“It's been known to be a cure for everything.”

It was then that Bruce noticed the obvious state of arousal of his opposite. He pulled him close and reversed their positions, pinning the shorter man against the counter. Stealing another kiss, Bruce tasted himself, his shower gel, and the flavor of chamomile on Tony's lips. He drew back slightly. “I've, um, never done... _that_ before...” At the apologetic sound, Tony smiled up at him.  
  
“I'm not asking for anything. It's been a pleasure as it was.”  
Bruce's hands then wound their way further down south.  
“ ... but I may be of other service.”  
  
Stark hissed as nimble fingers plopped open the buttons of his jeans. When a hand wrapped itself around his cock, painfully hard and already leaking, Tony whimpered out loud. Watching him for any kind of discomfort, Bruce tentatively began to stroke him, peeling down the pair of boxer briefs to get better access. Through hooded eyes, Tony gazed up at him, entranced.  
  
“You...you're a natural talent with those st-steady hands... geez, yes!”  
Stark's voice was strained, and he gripped Bruce's free arm to steady himself.  
“Perks of being a doctor.”

Bruce kept on milking him while his free hand went up to cup the back of Tony's head. Drawing him close, he brought their mouth together once more. When Bruce started thrusting his tongue into Tony's mouth in the same rhythm as his strokes, his reward was a deep groan. A split second later, something warm spilled all over his wrist, and Tony shuddered against him.  
  
“Fuck yes! Oh yes!”  
  
The Gothamite kept on stroking until he felt Tony slightly draw back. Looking down, Bruce then released his still erect cock to hold his hand under the faucet. After wiping wet fingers against his sweatpants, Bruce regarded the man next to him. Tony Stark wore a satisfied, if a bit tired smirk and pointed a thumb over at the queen-size bed in the corner.  
  
“Seeing we've deflowered your kitchen – mind getting a bit cozier over there?”  
  
Without waiting for an answer he stepped out of the denims pooling at his feet, pulled his boxer briefs back up, and strutted off. Bruce watched his ample backside crawl under the comforter and his own, bare feet soon plodded after him. They lay in comfortable silence side by side for a while, then Tony propped his head up on one hand and regarded his companion.

“So you've been solely with girls then?”

“Drunk-kissed a few guys on parties, but anything else... yeah. Girls.”

“I feel like a creep now.”

“Why?”

“For corrupting you.”

“Corrupting me felt pretty good.”

“Hm.”

"Tony."

“Yeah, okay, I just hope you really mean that.”

“I've been into guys for some time, okay? Due to my upbringing, it's just never been a.. topic.”

Stark shifted to lay down and placed his head upon the crook of his arm.

“Now I'm curious. Did I just get to blow a royalty?”

“No... and what happened to your doctor kink there, all of a sudden?”

“You could be a royal doctor, for all I know.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Post-orgasm haze will do that to me.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and turned onto his back, arms folded beneath his head.

“That should have long since ebbed off.”

“You don't know me that well. Yet.”

Wayne turned his head to be able to look at his grinning guest.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“Or a fantastic promise to a repeated performance.”

The fingers of Tony's free hand began to crawl closer and slip below Bruce's waistband. Wayne gave a faint squeak when they exposed his crotch and found their destination right after. Clearing his throat, the Gothamite at least tried for some final attempt of rationalization.  
  
“Your libido is q....quite spectacular.”

“Such is your dick.”

“... wow. Okay.”

For the briefest of moments, the caressing ministrations to his nether regions stopped.

“What? Too crude? Too crude too early? What?!”

“Well, technically... having sexual relationships with current patients is… unethical.”

“So you are a hunky doctor with a spectacular dick _and_ a boy scout mentality? Jackpot!”

When Tony resumed his fondling, Bruce soon found his body openly betraying him.

“I... uh... T-Tony...”

Stark had meanwhile inched closer to be able to nibble and lick at the earlobe closest to him.

“Hmm?”

Bruce swallowed around a thick lump in his throat, eyes rolling in the back of his head when Stark's expert fingers gripped his shaft and began slow, pumping movements. “About th... that thing i-in your... chest...” Tony stilled for a split second, then continued his stroking. “Let's not talk about this now, when there's something far more... pleasurable between us.”  
  
Upon bringing the Gothamite back to full mast, Tony was quick to scramble atop of him. He replaced his hand with his own hard-on and went on dry humping the writhing man below. Bruce all but keened, and he soon released the sheets he had fisted left and right to find their way around and upon Tony's firm buttocks, encouraging his grinding moves.  
  
An equally aroused Stark grinned against his jawbone. “You like that, Doctor? Tell me if it turns you on.” A breathless sound that resembled a positive answer followed his question. Tony felt the front of his briefs becoming damp from both his and Bruce's pre-cum. “You're going to make me come in my pants like a horny little teenager.” Wayne's eyes fluttered open, dark with lust.

“Own... fault.”  
The slightest sheen of perspiration had built on his upper lip, and Tony leaned in to lick it away.  
“You don't say.”

One of his hands wormed under Bruce's t-shirt and started to gently rub a finger over the areola in small circles, barely touching the nipple. Without warning, Bruce's hips bucked into his, and a low growl escaped the back of his throat. “Sensitive, aren't we?” By now, Bruce Wayne was way past a point of bothering to give a coherent reply.  
  
His thrusting movements of the pelvis began to increase, and Tony felt his fingers slip inside his own underpants to caress and squeeze the soft skin of his glutes. It caused him to pinch the innocent nipple between his fingers, and it was then that Bruce came a second time in less than half an hour, spilling all over his stomach and Tony's briefs.  
  
His reaction set Tony off as well, and he bucked into Wayne as he spent himself with a groan. Tony placed one ear square across Bruce's broad, warm, and heaving chest, and listened to the heavy thrum of his heartbeat. Mindful not to hurt him with the reactor's sharp casing, he kept his hands at the sides, pushing himself up. Their eyes then met again; sated and incredulous.

“Doctor, I think I'll come back soon for a check-up. For the moment, I need some bed rest.”  
  
With that, he slid off to the side, unmindful of the mess between them, and was soon snoring softly into Bruce's armpit. Confused, sated and languished all at once, the Gothamite also closed his eyes. When Stark eventually left after a two-hour nap, the scent of sex and his expensive fragrance continued to linger in the air, simultaneously clinging to all of Bruce's sheets and cushions.  
  
The young doctor remained where he was; staring at the ceiling.  
He still was not any wiser about the mystery circle apparatus in Tony's chest.  
Bruce decided to give him the benefit of doubt, at least until his mind was back to thinking straight.

Figuratively speaking.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Batsocks for requesting a little, extra angsty note in this one!

“Doctor, doctor, gimme the news.”  
  
Bruce looked up at the familiar deep voice and whistle of the old Robert Palmer song. Tony Stark leaned against the counter, wearing a black leather jacket over a gray shirt, a pair of faded denims, and a huge, enraptured smile. Bruce silently suspected him to have some kind of fetish involving white coats, because it always seemed to prompt the same reaction.

The Gothamite glimpsed up and down the empty corridor, slipped the pen into the pocket of his coat, and put the medical chart aside. “Good morning to you, too. And as for the news - I'm still on duty, and you're not supposed to be here.” He tapped his watch to go with his rebuke. Tony made a booing sound and sashayed over to steal a clandestine kiss.  
  
“Smartass. Missed you. Wanted to pick you up. And I got something you could tend to...” His hands reached out for those of his lover and placed them straight over his crotch. Bruce jerked back as if he had been burnt. “Don't! What if someone sees? My shift doesn't end for another ten min... hey!” Tony smiled and hummed some more against his stubborn set of lips.

“No pill's gonna cure my ill – I've got a bad case of loving you.”

It took a lot of Bruce's willpower to detach himself from his boyfriend and the very promising bulge inside his denims. All rascal grin, Tony licked his lips and pushed his palms flat into the back pockets. “I shall wait for you in the car – and I'm in the mood for playing doctor, doctor.” A wink, then he was gone. Bruce forced himself to not stare at the appealing way Tony's tight rear swayed in his jeans, only to fail miserably.  
  
Beet-red, he cleared his throat, turned around, and tried to focus on getting ready to switch shifts with his colleagues.

The two of them had met many more times over the past few weeks, usually at Bruce's apartment, to avoid exposure. Tony Stark was a celebrity of some kind, and Bruce Wayne not the least bit interested in stirring up a paparazzi hornet's nest. In between mind-numbing sexual encounters, they had also spoken about the facts leading up to Tony's medical condition.  
  
Bruce had learned a lot of insider-information about the grueling ways that made the billionaire now carry a permanent reactor in his chest. He had also learned how Tony made use of his changed lifestyle to work from inside his armor. Because of it, Tony sometimes would go and cancel on him short notice, but always made sure to call him afterward.  
  
While Bruce never asked about the exact circumstances behind his absences, he always went to check him thoroughly for injuries upon each of his returns. On regular, uneventful days, Stark popped in during the end of Bruce's shift, around 7 am, after the Gothamite forbid him to feign injuries just to be able to see him. In return, Tony always came equipped with a song that had fitting lyrics.  
  
Wayne found it both dorky and adorable.

When Bruce finally got out of the employee's entrance, Stark's silver Audi R8 stood waiting for him at the curb. With a sigh, Wayne eased into the sports seat and placed his worn out bag between his legs. “Hard night?” Bruce rubbed thumb and index finger over closed eyes. “Business as usual. The regular clusterfuck.” Nothing witty followed, so he reopened them and found Tony's concerned gaze upon him.  
  
Bruce smiled and reached over to pat his right thigh. “Kidding. I'm good. Take me home.” Stark tilted his head and turned the keys at the same time. “I really hate seeing how you wear yourself out, y'know?” From where his head leaned against the headrest, Bruce glimpsed at his profile. A slender finger came up to brush and tap against a fading bruise on Tony's cheekbone.  
  
“That's the pot calling the kettle black, or...?” Tony threw a glance into the rear-view mirror and accelerated with a distinctive loud roar. “So not. You're pulling all-nighters to save people's lives, and I'm just a schmuck tinkering with his toys. Totally different story.” Wayne tsked for him to hear and regarded the lighted dashboard.

“You're getting out there risking your life in that suit, Robin Hood. Don't downplay things.”  
Instead of an answer, the Audi then took a different turn, left the I-10, and headed straight for the PCH.  
Flabbergasted as to why they did not take the usual route, Bruce looked at his driver.  
  
“What's this going to be?”  
Tony re-gripped the steering wheel and gave a crooked little smirk.  
“It's about time you get to relax a little, Maid Marian.”

* * *

They made the 30 miles over to Stark Mansion in less than half an hour, thanks to Tony's lead foot.  
  
By the time they pulled up in the large, circular driveway, it was 7:42 am and a familiar black Audi S5 was parked in front. Bruce all but gawked at the first look of the huge, futuristic mansion. “I thought you were joking when you said you live in front of the first row apartments, but... apparently not.” They got out and Tony locked the car with a blip.  
  
“Gotta reputation to uphold.”  
He made a move to take the shabby backpack out of Bruce's grip and reached for his hand.  
“Come on in.”  
  
Stark half dragged, half pushed him inside, smiling at Wayne's incredulous glare.  
“Tony...?”  
Fast-paced stiletto clicks on marble tiles moved into their direction.  
  
A red-haired, tall and slender woman with fair skin stopped in her tracks when she spotted them. She wore a black business costume, a white blouse underneath, and a very confused look on her face. “There you are. Jarvis said you left an hour ago, and I was almost certain you were still upstairs...” Her voice drifted off upon seeing him holding hands with an unknown man.  
  
“I guess Jarvis was right then.” She slipped a Blackberry from her pocket, glimpsed at it, and shoved it back. Her gaze moved back to the brown haired stranger who was dressed in a casual combo of slacks, shirt and hoodie jacket. “If you don't need anything else for the moment, I'll head for the office.” Tony interrupted her hasty talk by letting go of Bruce's hand and moving to clasp her shoulder.

“Pep, dear, before you go and take care of my money and company like the treasure you are, please be so kind and say hello to Doctor Bruce Wayne here. He's the guy who makes sure it's not you who has to soil all of your clothes and shoes with gooey stuff like my blood.” At the more than strange introduction, both Bruce and Pepper stared at each other in mutual helplessness. A timid smile hushed over Wayne's face.  
  
“Pleased to meet you, Miss...” She responded instantly by outstretching her hand. “Potts. Pepper Potts. I'm Mister Stark's personal assistant. Nice to meet you, Doctor Wayne.” Bruce nodded along, shaking her hand. Tony then harrumphed. “No need for formalities here." He made a wide gesture in between them. “Pepper – Bruce, Bruce – Pepper. There.”  
  
The two smiled at each other once more. Pepper gave a little affirmative shrug and Bruce mimicked it. Her well-manicured fingers then dug into her clutch and produced a key ring with an Audi emblem. Pushing at a stray strand of hair from her chignon, she looked at the men. “I gotta leave now. The shake you requested is in the fridge. Have a good morning, both of you.”  
  
A final smile at Bruce, a pat on Tony's shoulder, then she was gone. The door clicked shut, and through the glass panels left and right the main door, they saw her car drive off. “Shake?” Bruce's question caused Tony to dump his backpack upon a huge crescent-shaped couch. “Your dinner. Or breakfast, depends. Figured you'd be hungry after work, and these are good.”

From where the Gothamite had been glimpsing around the large premises in quiet observation, it took Stark two tries to call him out of his reverie. “Huh? What did you say?” Standing behind a huge and massive kitchen island, Tony made a come-hither gesture with his index finger. A steel shaker stood on the counter, next to two glasses that were now filled to the brim.  
  
“I said come and get it, but it sounded better the first time.” Licking some droplets off his thumb, he threw a used spoon aside into the sink. “You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost there.” Bruce hurried to wipe the miserable expression off his face and followed him. “It's nothing, just some old... memories.” Hazel eyes wandered over the elegant, shiny black Yamaha piano nestled up on a gallery.  
  
"Memories of another time.”  
Following his line of view, Tony crossed his arms and leaned onto the counter.  
“Don't tell me you're a pianist as well. Otherwise, I am gonna be spooked real soon.”  
  
Bruce shook the memory of the blonde, beautiful woman at the Manor's piano from his head. “Never got around to learn it. I also never had a protein shake as a full meal before.” With a deflecting smile he leaned over to sniff at the glass Tony presented to him. “Please don't tell me it's Neapolitan flavor.” The smack Tony gave to his backside resounded through the kitchen.  
  
“It's Oreo, and you are a jerk.”

Gulping down the sweet concoction, Bruce meandered through the vast living space, until he discovered the spacious outdoor area. “Wow. You... even have your own pool.” Tony stepped up beside him, shoulders touching. “Why yes. Comes with the perks of owning a huge house.” Something indefinite lay in Bruce's hazel eyes at that, and he averted Tony's gaze.  
  
“Yes, I... guess.”  
  
He twirled the cold and damp glass in between his fingers. Tony gently nudged his shoulder. “Wanna try it out before sleeping?” Bruce stifled a yawn. His head had started to thrum, and he forced his brain to give an appropriate answer. “Didn't bring my swim trunks.” When Tony's hand wormed around his rear, giving it a firm squeeze, the Gothamite almost yelped out loud.  
  
“You don't need any.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor, Doctor)' by Robert Palmer, from the 1979 album 'Secrets'  
> [how fitting]


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, porn again. Read at your own discretion!

Taking the rest of their shakes along, Tony got new glasses and a bottle of what he referred to as a nightcap. Malibu's early morning hours then found them skinny dipping in the Mansion's infinity pool. After Bruce had impressed his host with a perfect crawl, they went to switch the pool for the hot tub. Sliding in with a deep, sensual moan from Tony caused Bruce to stare at him with a mixture of innocence and hunger.  
  
Tony scooted closer to him, bringing the two tumblers along.  
“Drink?”  
The glass fogged up from their wet fingers as Bruce took the proffered shot of liquor.  
  
“Ugh.”  
He was quick to dispose of the glass behind him, even as Tony chuckled and downed his.  
“Not one for bourbon, now are you?”  
  
Wayne ran both palms through his wet hair and proceeded to slide further down.  
“I don't drink, that's all. Never liked the taste or the loss of cognitive skills that comes with it.”  
Not having an answer for that, Tony hooked his arms over the rim and tilted his head back.  
  
“So I can't even get you drunk to hook up with me. Bummer.”  
One of Wayne's solid thighs nudged against his under water.  
“Who says you need alcohol for that?”  
  
Their kisses tasted of Oreo mingled with a bit of bourbon. When Bruce pulled him closer, Tony moved to straddle him amid the hot tub's bubbling jet system. “If you don't stop soon, I'm gonna ravish you right here, in the Jacuzzi.” Tony's voice was husky, and Bruce opened his eyes to watch him from close up. Water beads hung in Stark's long lashes, and his mouth looked as red and swollen as his own lips felt.

Shifting a little to ease up on the friction of their respective states of arousal, Bruce's fingers around Tony's ample buttocks stilled. “That's not likely going to be very comfortable, I guess.” Stark lifted a hand from where he had been busy caressing a set of smooth pectoral muscles. “Then let's get upstairs. I'm going to tuck you into bed.” Wrapped in two fluffy bathrobes, they left big, wet footprints behind on the carpeting.  
  
“Jarvis – windows at 89 percent.”  
Bruce stared at him as if he was insane. Tony made an elaborate twirl of the hand.  
“Tinted windows so that we can sleep without the sunlight streaming in?”  
  
“... Ah.”

When the desired effect took in, Bruce glanced around, suspicious. Tony moved to sit on the bed and patted the space next to him. “You look a little lost there, dreamboat.” Wayne opened his mouth, only to have a flash of confusion hush over his face and derail his potential reply. “No, I... wh- what did you just call me?” From where he sat and undid the belt around his waist, Tony shot him a gauging look.  
  
“Not good? How about stud muffin?”  
“... how about no?”  
“Any specific wishes for the time I shall wake both of the Sirs later on?”  
  
The disembodied voice reverberated through the room again, and Bruce all but flinched.  
“I don't know what this is, but it is really creepy.”  
Instead of an answer, Tony peeled his meanwhile dry body out of the robe and stretched out the king-size bed in all of his glory.  
  
“Jarvis – activate silence protocol EMCON and don't get back to us until 4 pm.”  
Bruce stood rooted to the spot with a more than skeptical expression.  
“Very well, Sir. Good night.”  
  
Tony capture his guest's attention by propping up one leg and his left arm behind his head. “Are you going to stand there all morning, watching?” His free hand then moved over to rest in between his splayed legs. “No, actually I wanted to know why there is a British voi... um, are... you even listening to me?” Words failed Bruce as he swallowed hard.  
  
A smug looking Tony Stark had begun to stroke himself to half-mast, right in front of his eyes. His own cock already started to strain against the thick, fluffy robe, and Bruce cleared his throat. “But maybe I just might... watch. For... examination purposes...” Entranced eyes never leaving Tony, he then shrugged out of his robe and saw the look of rapture splay out on the other man's face.

“Come here.”

It did not take any more persuasion for him to follow Tony's invitation. Their first, real sexual encounter turned out to become a true first for the man from Gotham City. After Tony Stark had applied all of his multifarious seduction techniques, including mouth, fingers, and tongue on the pliant body beneath him, Bruce found himself panting with desire. “I want... please...”  
  
From where Tony was spooning him, cock rubbing in between Bruce's buttocks while his hand stroked his erection, Stark smirked into his neck. “Please what, babe?” Wayne bucked into him. “Fuck me. I want... you to fuck me.” The admission took a great deal for him to voice. Bodies interwoven, Stark then pressed a kiss in between two sculpted shoulder blades and reached for his nightstand.  
  
Warming the neutral smelling lube between his fingers, he kept a steady hold of Bruce's hip as he slicked the condom and positioned himself. “Lay on your side.” Hooking an arm under Bruce's upper leg, Tony spread him wide and shifted. Despite his want, Wayne flinched slightly as he felt the tip of Tony's cock at his entrance. “Easy, babe, it's alright. Gonna take care of you, relax.”

He started out slow, stilling whenever he felt Bruce clench involuntarily. At some point, resistance lessened enough for him to get into the motions of steady thrusting. Bruce's whimpers started to shift from low and cautious to louder and aroused. Tony tried to keep an angle that would enable him to reach his lover's prostate on the way in and out. Bruce tilted his head back. “Oh, that's good, so good."  
  
With his free hand, Tony cupped his forehead and pulled to be able to capture Bruce's lips in a wet, slick kiss. The Gothamite moaned into his mouth, his fingers clenching around Tony's hip. “Fuck, babe, you're so damn tight and sexy.” Stark's deep baritone caused Bruce to grind his pelvis. After another open-mouthed kiss, Tony removed his lips with his index and middle finger.

Wetting them between Bruce's lips elicited another fierce growl from the back of Tony's throat. “I'm gonna come real soon, babe. You're making me horny as fuck.” His whispered words were accompanied by his wet fingers reaching over to pinch and rub along one of Bruce's nipples. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” Wayne mumbled incoherent obscenities that Tony joined in with a drawn-out groan.  
  
Thrusting in as deep and as far as he could, his orgasm washed over him in shuddering waves. After he had spent himself, Tony pulled out with care, threw the condom aside and turned Bruce onto his back. Chest heaving, the Gothamite opened his eyes to see Tony's hand going for his cock again, starting to stroke with urgency, while his other hand and mouth went straight to his chest.  
  
Bruce's back arched upwards when Tony bit into his nipple, only to lick around its areola after. He came undone with force, spilling all over his lover's hand and his own stomach, eyes clenched shut, almost sobbing from release. As he lay there, gathering his bearings, Wayne was only half aware of the tissue Tony gently rubbed across his skin.

“Damn, that was good.” Seconds later, Tony curled up at his side. “Better than the version I was jerking off to all those times.” His cheekiness made Bruce turn around to face him. “You really are unbelievable.” With a few sated noises, Stark nuzzled into his shoulder. “Gimme ten minutes, then I'll prove it to you again.” Wayne's fingers moved around his rear and pinched, once.  
  
“Hush now and sleep, bragmouth. I gotta leave in less than six and I'm beat.”  
Mellowed out from sex, Tony smirked against his skin.  
“Only if you say it.”  
  
“Say what?”  
“What you always said to me at the hospital.”  
For a second, Bruce was confused before he chuckled and pressed a kiss to the crown of Tony's hair.

“Good night, Mister Stark.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

When Tony woke around noon, it was to the feeling of being spooned by something warm and muscled. He quietly ordered his AI to tint the windows to 94 percent and carefully peeled out of his sanctuary. Mumblings erupted from behind, so Tony pressed a kiss against his temple.

“I'll be downstairs. Sleep some more.”  
Bruce shifted drowsily in his sleep.  
“Mmhm. Luv you, too.”

Even as Bruce Wayne turned around and buried himself under the blankets, unmindful of his revelation, Tony stood and stared down at him with an undecipherable expression on his face. His hand hovered over where some of Bruce's hair stuck out but drew back after a moment.

He tiptoed out of the room, only to sink into the swivel chair of his workshop with a grunt. Burying his face in his palm, the inventor rubbed vigorously for a few seconds, then sniffed out loud and slammed his hands upon the desktop. “Jarvis, I think it's about time we dig a little deeper than usual.” A holographic in front of him started to flicker.  
  
“Regarding which field of your current projects, Sir? The exoskeleton of Mark IV?” Thinking back to the man upstairs, tucked away in his bed, Tony snipped his fingers for a digital keyboard to appear out of nowhere. “No, I'm talking about a much more... _intimate_ project.” He began to draw up several virtual screens all around his mainframe.  
  
The AI presented him with a digitalized hard disk animation hovering in mid-air. “I have taken the liberty to delete 60 gigabytes of x-rated video art from your external hard drive, if that is what you mean, Sir.” Stark's typing stopped abruptly as his head shot up. “ You... have _what?!”_

“I have taken the liberty to delete 60 gigabytes of...”

“I got that! Sheesh. One of these days, Jarvis; I swear. Who convened that? I know I didn't!”

“I believe Miss Potts expressly stated her consent.”

“Scratch those godawful Lahmacuns from her gift list. Nefarious woman.”

“Louboutins, Sir.”

“Whatever. And now I want you to go through the public archives of Gotham City. Thoroughly.”

* * *

An hour later, Pepper's voice and stilettos echoed through his workshop

“Jarvis says your guest is still upstairs.”

Tony sat inside his father's Hot Rod, sneakered feet propped up on the passenger door.

“Yup.”

When he did not pause watching something on a big screen in front of the car, the redhead got out her phone and thumbed through it. “Good thing I'm here for lunch break. Do you want to have his clothes dry-cleaned as well? They didn't really look like they... _required_ it, though.” The billionaire eventually looked up. There was a faint hint of contemplation on his features.  
  
“Huh? What? What'cha talking about?”  
  
Convinced he was trying to play coy, Pepper put one arm akimbo and cocked out her hip. “You usually tell Jarvis to have me 'take out the trash' in the mornings. Now it's noon and this guy is still here. Did you suddenly discover a new kind of kink for stray kids from medical college dressed in Target clothes overnight?” His face darkened at her words and expression.  
  
“No, that's not what it is. And Bruce stays here, don't you dare to wake him up.” Used to that certain, petulant tone of her boss, the personal assistant countered with a flat expression. “Okay, Tony. Let me try to be the voice of reason here: Your Bruce up there might very well be nothing more than a freeloader who is out for your money and fame, okay?”

Blue eyes warred with dark brown for a few heartbeats, before Tony shook his head with a sad smirk. “I can assure you that he's not.” Pepper abandoned her slightly bellicose stance and walked up close to the car. Looking down, she saw him tap his fingers against his ARC reactor. “How can you be so sure?” Without warning, Tony sat up straight behind the wheel of the vintage car and made a wide gesture with his arms.  
  
Immediately, the workshop was flooded with huge, digital headlines of old, scanned-in Gotham Times issues.

_'WAYNES SLAIN- Doctor and wife shot down in alley while 8-year-old son survives'_

_'Orphaned prince of Gotham kicked out of Princeton'_

_'Future of Wayne Hospital uncertain – Bruce Wayne leaving Gotham at age 18'_  
  
_'Wayne heir gone missing in Asia'_

As Pepper skimmed over them, her eyes were going wider with each headline.  
When they found Tony Stark's again, his mouth was twisted with grim satisfaction.  
“Because I know.”

* * *

Bruce eventually woke in the afternoon to soft chimes and a British voice telling him it was 4 pm and the weather not ideal for surfing. With a confused frown, the Gothamite rolled onto his side of the large, empty bed, and blearily fumbled around for his missing companion.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Wayne. Mister Stark told me to inform you he is currently working downstairs. He insists you to feel free to make use of the adjacent bathroom facilities. All of your clothes have been washed, dried, and ironed, and are waiting for you in the dressing room. A late lunch is going to be served for both of you whenever you are ready.”

“I... uh... okay, erm – thanks.” Scratching the back of his head, Bruce groped blindly for one of the two tangled bathrobes on the floor and covered his modesty. No sooner than he had swung his legs over the rim, the disembodied voice piped up once more. “My pleasure, Doctor Wayne.” Bruce glimpsed around, feeling foolish to talk to air. “Do you – I mean, how do I address you?”

“I am Jarvis, Mister Stark's personal artificial intelligence program, Sir.”

“Okay, so...uh, Jarvis...?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Can you do me a favor and stop calling me that?”

“I am not permitted to induce commands not given to me directly by Mister Stark, Sir.”

Dejected, Bruce pursed his lips and stood up. Several doors were leading from the bedroom.

“I see. Okay, then... which one of these is the bathroom?”  



	11. Chapter 11

When Bruce made his way downstairs after half an hour, showered, shaved and dressed, the smell of bacon and coffee hung in the air. Tony sat at the large kitchen island, dressed in a casual jeans and shirt combo, sipping juice and browsing through a paper. Upon Wayne's entry, he let the paper sink and smiled at his guest. “Afternoon, sunshine. Slept well?”  
  
He raised his chin and pursed his lips, to which Bruce leaned in and pecked them. “Yes, but your AI refuses to stop calling me Doctor. It makes me feel snooty and awkward.” Bruce then took a seat opposite of him where a set of cutlery, an empty mug, and a glass of freshly pressed juice were already waiting. Tony poured him some coffee and glimpsed up.  
  
“Jarvis: Be a good boy and stop calling Bruce a doctor, will ya.”  
Without missing a beat Tony went back to buttering his third piece of toast.  
“Of course, Sir. Apologies for making you uncomfortable, Mister Wayne.”  
  
Putting his glass of orange juice aside, Bruce glanced around the vast living room area.  
“Never mind, Jarvis, and – thank you.”  
His host slurped on his own cup of java. Dark brown eyes then sparkled at Bruce over the rim.

“You are one of those guys who gets a degree, but does not get off of people calling him by it?”  
Bruce stopped slicing through a large serving of golden-yellow omelet and looked at him.  
“Why would I? It's nothing to be fawned over. I'm just doing my job like everybody else.”

Stark let him eat undeterred for while, devouring the remains of watermelon on his own plate.  
“I'm sure there's plenty of others who'd disagree with you, though.”  
Bruce watched him stack the leftover rinds into a meticulous little pile and shrugged.

“To each their own. For me, it's the result that matters at the end of the day, not the title.”  
A rustle, then Tony folded the paper up and put it aside. Arms crossed, he leaned forward.  
“Why did you become a doctor, Bruce?”

A subtle, baiting undertone lay in his question; one which Wayne purposely ignored.  
“Because I needed to prove myself.”  
His opposite narrowed his eyes.  
  
“To whom? Whom were you trying to prove yourself to?”  
Tony's stare bore into him. Bruce's gaze involuntarily shifted down to the napkin on the left.  
“I don't know... myself to myself, maybe.”

Having had enough of all the tiptoeing around, Tony uncrossed his arms and leaned back. “Then why did you never take all of your parents' money to build your own hospitals and such? Why do you work in LA instead of Gotham? What about your parents' legacy?” It was the question Bruce had inwardly waited and also feared for, all those weeks. Gnawing on his soul patch, Tony regarded him intently. Then he shrugged.  
  
“You knew I was going to look up _whom_ exactly I am wooing, of course.”  
A nod.  
With circumspect motions, Bruce then put the fork down and stapled his fingers.  
  
“Maybe I felt suffocated? Maybe I felt like - anywhere I'd go in Gotham, no matter what, I'd still only be 'poor Bruce, we remember your parents so well'.” Tony remained silent, but Bruce sat up a little straighter and made a sweeping gesture. “ Heck, I could win a Nobel prize for curing cancer, and still get patted on the cheek, and get reminded of all things _they_ did for their city. Which is fine by me, don't get me wrong, but...”

“... but you only wanted to become a mere doctor known for his work, not his name.”

“That's why I went to the west coast. And it's not just being a 'mere doctor', okay?”

“No, it's also having a blast living in a ratty apartment, buying at Target, that kinda life.”

“My apartment is not ratty!”

“Well, okay, no - it's not. But it's also not something you'd expect from old money like you.” When Bruce was about to object, Tony cut him off. "I just don't get it! You're rich and smart as fuck - like me! We gotta give you exposure, power, all of the stuff that dreams are made of!" It was then that the Gothamite stood up in one fluid motion. His eyes drilled into the other man.  
  
“None of these are important to me, Tony. I thought you'd...” Bruce pinched his lips and turned around to walk over to where the panorama glass front displayed the vastness of the ocean. "All the money in the world couldn't have prevented my parents from getting shot.” A chair was scraped, then footsteps walked up to him and two wiry arms encircled his waist.  
  
“You really are quite something.”  
  
Stark nuzzled against his broad back and closed his eyes. For a moment, they simply stood, locked in a tight embrace. Then Bruce began to shift. “Most of all, I really have to go now.” Dejected, Tony let his arms sink. Wayne turned around, put two fingers under his chin and kissed him softly on the lips. He drew back mere inches to watch the shorter man's eyes flutter open.  
  
Bruce ran an index finger along his temple and smiled; hesitant at first, then bolder. “Thank you for the wonderful morning.” Tony's nose wrinkled in playful disgust. “That's all I get? One kiss?” What followed was a tender flick of the same finger against the tip of his ear. “You also get to drive me back.” The shorter man responded with a tsking shake of the head.

“Remind me to get you your own car. Something sleek and fast. Sexy. Dangerous even.”  
Wayne threw a deadpan look over his shoulder, already walking towards the main door.  
“Remind me to prescribe you something against a severe case of extravagance.”

A deep, merry chuckle, then Tony hurried to catch up with him, fishing for his car keys.  
“See, Jarvis – this is exactly what this household needs. Prudence and virtue.”  
Before Bruce could slip out of his reach, Tony tucked a hand into the back pocket of his pants.  
  
“Awaiting your conversion to modesty with joyful anticipation, Sir.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

“What do we have?”  
Bruce inspected the medical chart and looked at nurse Dawes. Rachel shook her head.  
“We're not sure what he took yet. Amphetamines, generic. Vital signs still haven't stabilized.”  
  
His eyes were quick to take in all vital information. “Samples taken to test glucose, urea and electrolytes, paracetamol and salicylate levels?” He thankfully accepted the pair of sterile disposable gloves she handed to him before she slipped on a pair herself. “Not yet, Doctor Wayne.” Bruce nodded and glanced one more time at the clock. 6:38 am.  
  
“Okay.”  
When he turned around to smile at the patient on the bed, he was met with disdain.  
“Good morning, Sir. My name is Bruce Wayne, I'm your doctor. How are you doing, Mister...?  
  
The man, an erratic mid-aged Caucasian with dirty hair, stubble and clothes glared at him.  
“I'm fucked up, okay? I needed to be at Pico since 20 minutes, and I am trapped in here!”  
Not one for getting sidetracked, Bruce took out his sphygmomanometer and moved closer.  
  
“Okay, Sir. Do you have any family around to come and pick you up?”  
The man jerked his arm away before Bruce could fasten the cuff.  
“No, I don' have any family around! Leave my family out of this, you sick fuck in a white coat!”  
  
Bruce turned around to where Rachel hovered close by; her face blank and professional.  
“Code gray, and get me 1cc of Naloxone, fast... Sir – Sir, lay down, please. Lay down.”  
From where the man had sat up straight, he eyed Rachel as she prepared a syringe.  
  
“What the hell's that shit? What the fuck you talkin bout? What you.. no, get away from me!”

“Mister.... please.”  
Bruce put a cautionary hold upon the man's chest but got slapped away with force.  
“Don't freaking touch me! Don't fucking touch me, fucker! I swear I'll kill you! All of you!”

With a yelp, the strung out man leaped off the gurney and bolted for the door. Acting on instinct, Bruce grabbed a sleeve and held on tight. Rachel Dawes just called out the door, when the man started to flail his extremities, to try and tear out of the stronghold with all his might. Out of the blue, a sharp elbow came up and made a painful encounter with Bruce's face.  
  
It caused him to loosen his grip as a flash of colorful stars exploded in front of his vision. Propelled forward by sudden release, the man stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud. He began to crawl away, until two security officers stood in the door and blocked his way. From where Bruce had turned away, he blinked his equilibrium back under control and straightened up.  
  
Rachel's hand was on his shoulder as she swam into his blurry line of view. “Shit, he got you good there, Bruce. Let me see.” Feeling something warm trickle down his nose, Bruce attempted a smile and took the tissue out of her hand when she approached him. “Anything broken? Nose? Cheekbone?” Wayne negated, even as he moved to lean back against the gurney to steady himself.  
  
“No, no. It's nothing. My fault. Got in too close. I'm okay.” He waved the security officers off and started to dab at the red flow underneath his nose. Rachel took a new bunch of tissues, wet them at a nearby sink and put them into his nape. “Let me give you a ride home today. We don't want you to sit on the tram looking like that.” Through the fast swelling eye and declining ability to see properly, Bruce gave a crooked smirk.  
  
“Like a loser who got beaten up by a hobo, you mean?”  
She gave a very light slap to his shoulder.  
“Right.”

* * *

Rachel Dawes' teal-colored 1993 Ford Taurus LX smelled of flowery perfume and faint dog odor.  
  
Over the low but constant droning of an enthusiastic radio host, who told people to enjoy their upcoming working day, they quietly rode along, mutual fatigue making for a pleasant silence. Upon pulling up in front of Bruce's apartment block, there was a silver Audi R8 parking, its license plate reading 'Stark 4'. Seeing the curious looks from his female driver, Bruce tried to deflect.  
  
“Thanks for the lift. Much more pleasant when your face feels like mashed potatoes.”  
Rachel eyed the sports car, then glimpsed over to assess his mangled face one more time.  
“Put an ice pack on and get well soon, Bruce. I'll see you around.”  
  
Neither of them saw the man standing by the window, hidden behind the blinds, watching. Turning the keys to his front door, Bruce was not surprised to find it unlocked. Inside, it was still semi-dark, except for the small and meager night lamp on the floor next to his bed. Putting down his bag and slipping out of his shoes, Bruce peeked around the corner.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
From where Tony was sitting cross legged on the bed, browsing through what looked to be one of Bruce's monthly issues of Annals of Emergency Medicine, he looked up and put the magazine aside. A strange aura surrounded him; betraying the smile he put up. “Good morning to you, too. I would've called beforehand, but a certain _someone_ does not have his private mobile switched on, and your other...”  
  
Tony stopped, stared, and scrambled to his feet. “... what the fuck happened to you? What... nonono, wait up – let me see your face!” In an instant, Stark was in front of him, pushing him into the small bathroom, and turned on the lights. Both squinted against the brightness, then two fingers came up to tilt Bruce's chin towards the mirror. His eyes darted over the encrusted blood around his nostrils. Tony frowned.

“Who did that?”  
His voice had turned low and dangerous. Bruce inspected the swollen area around his eye.  
“Lucky shot from a patient with a psychotic episode. OD'ed on Amphetamines. Happens.”

Tony started wetting tissues from a nearby box and went to dab at his face. “Why isn't security higher to prevent such things? Fuck, that's a mean shiner you're going to get.” Bruce gently shook his grip off and started to unzip his jacket. “It's nothing, really. Can you not? I'm tired.” He squeezed past his boyfriend and went for the coat rack. With arms crossed in front of his chest, Tony stormed out after him.  
  
“I'm gonna be there watching out for you in the future. I'll be your own bodyguard in a metal suit if you like. Nobody will know it'd be me.” Moving over to fetch a cool pack from the fridge, Bruce threw the door shut. “Like hell you will. Speaking of which – you have to dial down on those visits of yours, unannounced or not. They are likely to lead to suspicion, and that's not something either of us can afford, and...”

A dark, heavy cloud moved over to settle square upon Tony's features. “Oh. Oh, I see. So you can have more time flirting with your pretty nurse Raquel there. I get it.” Bruce would have rolled his eyes, if it was not for the searing pain erupting from behind his forehead. “Her name is Rachel, and you get nothing. Stop behaving like a petulant teenager here.”

“Then what is it?”

“You are endangering my job!”

Scandalized, Tony pointed both index fingers at his chest.

“ _Moi?!”_

“Yes, _you.”_

With a derisive snort, Stark waved him off.

“You need to get out of that shithole hospital anyhow if you ask me. The sooner, the better.”

“Cedars is no shithole – and who asked you to barge in on me and my life like that, huh?”

“Well, someone has to, clearly!”

“Newsflash, oh great Anthony Stark – maybe that someone isn't you?!”

The last part slipped from Bruce's enraged tongue on its own accord before he could stop himself. Tony stared at him in shock. It soon vanished and gave way to bitterness and hurt. “Fine. Go on, rot away here in Santa Monica for all I care! I'm sure your little nurse is more than willing to... to help you planting flowers in that shitty excuse you call garden!”

The door slammed shut mere minutes before a loud engine howled through the early morning hours. Tires screeched, then Tony Stark was gone. With a groan, Bruce Wayne sunk down on the edge of his bed, slapped the dripping ice pack on the floor, and massaged his aching head.  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-too graphic M/M situation in this one

For the upcoming five days, neither made a move to seek the other out.

Swallowing all of his male pride, Bruce eventually caved in first and called at the mansion, to at least try to apologize for his heedless outburst. The first time he called was around 10 am, after restless hours of tossing and turning in the sheets; unable to sleep despite being exhausted from work. Pepper Potts answered him, professional but with a hint of sympathy in her voice.  
  
The second time, Bruce directly tried Tony's mobile, only to have the AI system tell him in its posh British accent how Mister Stark regrettably was not available, but he could very well leave a message. Crestfallen, the Gothamite decided not to, and his weakened resolve soon found a very valid reason to not be foolish enough to try again; called US Weekly.  
  
The distinct cover of the latest gossip issue now mocked him whenever he passed the wooden beach kiosk shag on the corner. It featured the very Tony Stark from close up in solid lip-lock with Janet van Dyne; a young, beautiful fashion designer. The big bold title above read _'The Emperor's New Clothes?'_ For the rest of the week, Bruce took a significant detour to and from home, to avoid direct exposure.

When Tony appeared on his doorstep one evening around 6 pm, Bruce had just returned from a swim in the ocean and sat on his veranda, toweling the sand out from in between his toes. “Hey.” Wayne looked up. Stark wore a deflecting smile. “Hey.” He put his cleansed foot down on the warm tiles and propped the other one up in return.  
  
Tony watched him meticulously brushing down his instep before he pointedly cleared his throat. “So... how are you? How's work going?” Bruce did not look up again, and Tony's fingers started to drum upon the wooden fence stakes. “Good. Busy.” A deep hum, followed by some seconds ticking away in silence. “You look tired.” With a small sigh, Bruce finished his task and stood up, neatly folding the towel along the way.  
  
“Must be all that lack of sleep adding up.”  
Tony leaned over like at a fast food restaurant's counter and crossed his arms atop the fence.  
“Lots of psychos around?”  
  
At the subliminal jibe, Bruce's mouth disappeared into a thin, grim line. “No. Listen, I appreciate your interest in me and my life, but I think we shouldn't try forcing both of us to be something we cannot be.” Tony's eyebrow rose. “Uh-huh?” He left it at that, an overly awkward vacuum, which subsequently prompted Bruce to fill in the void.  
  
“Yeah. You see, at first, I wasn't sure how I was gonna deal with your... scene. Now I know.” With an unforeseen, nimble move, Tony hopped over the fence and onto the terrace. “Know what, if I may ask? And just for the record - I think you were dealing with my scene just fine until you got a little too cozy with your head nurse there.” Bruce threw the towel aside.

“Keep your dirty little innuendo to yourself, okay?” He glared at Tony's air quotes. “I know very well how these games go.” Stark pushed his hands back into his pockets and squinted up at him. “What games?” Bruce pointed into his direction, careful not to poke him in the chest.  
  
“Stop making me feel guilty over nothing, to sugarcoat the fact you found yourself some quick consolation. I get it – you're a playboy! You rubbed it into my face, we're even in your book. Whatever that is.” It was then that Stark's slightly supercilious grin fell and gave way to an angered grimace. “... you don't know shit, Wayne, okay!?” Said man nodded once.  
  
“When it comes to what goes on in that megalomanic head of yours, yeah, right, I really don't. Must be all that extravagance and fame I'm missing out upon.” Tony gave a derisive snort and dismissive wave of his hand. “Oh pardon me for being rich and knowing a lot of people, Mister Deliberately Recluse.” Not rising to the bait, Bruce opted for another, seemingly affirmative nod.  
  
“It's always like that with you, isn't it? Guys and girls flock to you, and... you just can't help yourself. Life is your restaurant.” Dark brown eyes narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?” Wayne shrugged with faux ennui. “It means you're charming. That's all.” Tony zeroed in on him, a predatory expression all over his face. “So you think I'm a slut. That it?”

Bruce wanted to draw back but got stopped by a sudden, tight grip around his wrist.  
“You see the papers and you believe everything they tell you?”  
The well-groomed goatee morphed into a sneer. Bruce wrestled his hand free.  
  
“Well, what I saw was pretty obvious. You wanted me to see it.” They were almost standing toe to toe by now, the difference in height clearer than before. “I wanted you to see _me_ , Bruce.” Tony's voice held an ambitious timbre. His breath ghosted along the taller man's jawline. “Because you're one of the few who get to see the real me.”

In retrospect, Bruce was not sure who initiated the kiss first; the odds were good it was him.  
  
The only thing he remembered was hoisting the other man up from underneath his buttocks in a quick, strong move and carrying him inside. Their kisses were wet and sloppy, Tony tasted of sugar and espresso as he moaned into his mouth, and Bruce winced when their teeth collided. It did not take long for him to lose his shorts and shirt, and for Tony to strip off his clothes.  
  
By that time, both of them were already hard from pent-up desire, and Bruce did not complain when Tony reached for the nightstand he had come to learn was the first place to look for lube. All it took from Bruce was not to embarrass himself by coming right there and then, with Tony sheathing him with a condom before he started to slather lube all over his rock-hard erection.  
  
When he straddled him and positioned himself above, Bruce cast glassy eyes upwards. “Wha... what about... prep...preparation?” In slow, deliberate movements, Tony lowered himself, taking him in one inch at a time with a concentrated, but aroused expression. “Already did.” Then he rolled and tilted his pelvis, and Bruce forgot any objection he had left to voice.  
  
At some point, his hands went up on their own accord, lifting and lowering Tony for even greater friction. Keening, Stark tilted his head back. “Fuck, yes! Faster, c'mon.” Wayne's hands were slipping off sweated skin, and he dug them harder into the flesh of Tony's hips. Stark then dipped his head low, braced himself on the headboard in front, and moaned directly into Bruce's ear.  
  
“Yeah, fuck me. Fuck me like the little slut I am.”  
  
Too far gone, seconds before his orgasm tore out of him, Bruce did not respond other than groaning out loud in release. After his hips stopped bucking, he reached up and began to stroke down Tony's cock until the latter came with a strangled moan, spilling himself all over his stomach and Bruce's wrist. As he sunk back into the pillow, Tony eased off of his flaccid member and pulled the condom off.  
  
Stark's bare footsteps than padded over into the bathroom, where he locked the door. Soon, running water from the sink was heard. Bruce pushed himself up to his elbows and waited. After a while, Tony re-appeared, not looking at him but for his clothes instead. Bruce frowned. “What's this going to be?” With an urgency not previously known, Tony dressed in the semi-dark of the approaching dusk.  
  
“I need to go.”

“Just... like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

“What the fuck?”

“Quite literally, yeah. I just proved your point there, didn't I?”

Bruce sat up straight and pulled the blankets into his lap.  
“ _You_ throwing yourself at me proved _my_ point? How about you apologize for a change here?”  
At that, Stark actually laughed out loud. It was not a friendly laugh.

“Think you were right, it doesn't work. Go fuck yourself, Wayne, okay?”  
He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut.  
Bruce stared after him in disbelief, mouth agape.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most quotes from Tony's and Pepper's scene taken directly from the original IM movie script.

“Hey, Pep. You busy? You mind if I send you on an errand?”  
The assistant looked at her boss' distraught figure tinkering underneath one of his metal suits.  
“No, what is it?”

“I need you to go to my office. You're going to hack into the mainframe and you're going to retrieve all the recent shipping manifests.” Tony wiped his hands on a rag as he moved over to where she stood, reluctant expression on her freckled face, and pushed something in her hand.  
  
“This is a lock chip, it'll get you in. It's probably under Executive Files. If not, they put it on a ghost drive, in which case you need to look for the lowest numeric heading.” Pepper regarded the slim device in her palm. Her blue eyes then blinked underneath long lashes at him.“And what do you plan to do with this information if I bring it back here?”  
  
Tony gave an emotionless smirk and grabbed another tool from the workbench. “Same drill. They're dealing under the table, I'm gonna find my weapons, and destroy them.” Her delicate features twisted with worry. “Tony, you know that I would help you with anything, but I can't help you if you're going to...” His eyes were brimming with desperation and hate; not directed at her, but at himself, Pepper realized.  
  
“There is nothing except this. There's no art opening. There is no benefit. There is nothing to sign. There is the next mission and nothing else.” For a moment, neither spoke. Her shoes made faint clicks on the concrete as Pepper walked closer. “Is that so?” When nothing answered Pepper, except for his heavy breathing, she cocked out a hip and crossed her arms.  
  
“What about Bruce, Tony? Does he fall into the same category of 'nothing'?”  
Tony turned around so that she was unable to see his face any longer.  
“That will be all, Miss Potts. Thank you.”

* * *

Sweat ran into Bruce's eyes, making him squint and blink, despite the room being cool and dimly lit.  
  
His fingers were moist with blood and perspiration, trying to dissect any subcutaneous tissue from the obese, male body of the 50-something on the table. The beeping of the electrocardiogram and the strident voice of the resident grated on his frayed nerves. From the corner of his eye, Bruce saw the nurse applying another round of Chlorhexidine to all instruments on the trolley, keeping the messy procedure site clean.

“Right atrium collapses in systole.” He cleared his throat and glimpsed up at the ultrasound monitor again. “Right ventricle collapses in diastole. Elevated JVP, hypertension, and quiet heart sounds.” Bruce swallowed with difficulty when he came to a, for him, grave diagnosis. “Cardiac tamponade. We have to perform immediately.”

Pericardiocentesis -a life-threatening, rapid buildup of fluid around the heart- was something Wayne had never treated before. Nevertheless, he did not have much choice on that particular night shift; seeing their patient could not afford to wait for a free cardiothoracic surgeon. “18 G needle, 20 ml syringe. 20 ml Lidocaine, 1.0%.” The nurse carried out his orders without complaint, but the resident threw him a peculiar look.  
  
“Isn't that too much?”

About to insert the needle in sub-xiphoid position, adjacent to the ultrasound probe, Wayne took a split second to narrow his eyes at the other doctor. “Aspirate while I'm inserting.” Not waiting for a reply, Bruce watched the needle enter the largest pocket of fluid on the monitor. Once a soft-tipped guide wire sat in its place, Bruce removed the needle and passed dilators over to enlarge the track.  
  
As he was about to remove the guide wire, Bruce saw it.  
There was blood in the pericardial fluid.  
As if on cue, all of the machines started to beep irregularly.  
  
“He's going into cardiac arrest!” The resident's voice turned panicked. “We're losing him!” Heart racing, Bruce ignored the other man and started to go through the motions of manual CPR. “Epinephrine - 1:10,000!” They fought for another ten minutes, to no avail. The sound of a flatline would accompany Bruce Wayne from the OR over to the staff room. It was there that his superior sought him out later.  
  
From where he stood, rooted to the same spot in the corner, facing the window front, Bruce did not turn around. “I've never done the sub-xiphoid approach before, I should have been more careful, I...” The linoleum under his superior's shoes squeaked as she took a few steps towards him. “The patient suffered from acute cardiac decompensation and an acute pulmonary oedema.”  
  
Bruce fell silent, arms tightly wrapped around himself. “What happened was not your fault, Doctor Wayne.” The Gothamite continued to stare out at the sky that was turning red. Eventually, the elder physician stepped up to appear on his right side. “The first time you lose a patient is always the hardest. While it doesn't get easier, you will learn to cope, eventually.”  
  
With a glance at the digital clock over the door, the chief resident then nodded. “Your shift is almost over. Why don't you get home and get some sleep.” When Bruce finally tore his gaze away from the scenery outside, his eyes were steady again. “Yes. Thank you, Doctor Thompkins.” He refrained from taking a shower and just switched the bloodied scrubs for his civilian clothes.  
  
On the way home, Bruce acted on autopilot.  
  
By the time he had closed the door to his apartment, his legs trembled so hard, he sunk in a near boneless heap onto his bed. For an indefinite amount of time, he lay there and listened to the sound of his distorted breathing. From where his arm dangled over the edge of the mattress, his cold fingers touched something he identified as a phone. Without further ado, he raised the device to his ear and pressed the redial button.  
  
After several rings, the line clicked, and there was a faint, far away voice.  
“Hello?”  
Bruce closed his eyes.  
  
“T- Tony...?”  
A severe static rustle made him snap them open again.  
“Who's there? Hello?”  
  
Wayne swallowed around a constricted throat and focused on a crack in the ceiling.  
“I... it's Bruce. Where are you?”  
For the briefest of moments, nothing could be heard on the other end.  
  
“Hi, uh. I... I'm out.”

“Out?”

“Yeah, like, out of country.”

“Oh.”  
Bruce then got aware of the in-flight sounds surrounding Tony.  
“I see.”

Stark seemed to ponder a potential answer. It was then that Bruce's last bit of composure crumbled. “I wanted to say – I don't give a fuck about last time, I... I just want to... I need to...” Words failed him, and he wiped his free palm over his face. “Can... can we meet?” His skin still inhabited the metallic smell of blood, and Bruce forced down the urge to gag. A short and rather cynical laugh then resounded over the line.  
  
“Oh, so the slut's good enough for another quick shag there, hm? That it?” Tony's voice sounded a bit breathless over the rustle. “No, I... no. That's not what I – stop putting words in my mouth.” Bruce started to feel another wave of anxiety build up and crash over him. “Oh, course. I forgot. You'd rather have the slut putting things in his mouth. Understood.” Wayne sat up at that, dizzying himself.  
  
“Can you not just make this about your... your ego all the time? I'm trying to talk to you here, and...” Some faint engine whine was heard in the back. “See? This is why it's not gonna work. I'm the egomaniac slut and you're the sanctimonious prick.” Against his will, Bruce had to gulp down a sob. His free hand moved to cover his eyes, despite the nauseating smell of crimson.  
  
“Forget it. Forget that I called. Forget I even exist, okay?”  
At that, Tony hesitated ever so slightly over the line, stopping whatever he was about to add.  
“Hey now...”

“Goodbye, Mister Stark.”

The line went dead without further ado.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Bruce had been slouching in that uncomfortable outdoor chair for the longest time.  
  
He had only bought it because it was cheap and he needed something for his patio, but it mostly served as a place to put laundry out to dry, not to put on human backsides. Long before his rear had started to go numb, he had dampened down the unpleasant sensation with the help of a six-pack Bush Light that was near empty by now. On his fourth beer, strange sounds reached his ears.  
  
Soon after, a flash of red and gold landed in front of him with a clank. With a swooshing sound, the faceplate came up and revealed the confused and slightly worried countenance of Tony Stark. “And here I thought you didn't drink.” After another swig of the bottle, Bruce sneered up at him.  
  
“Wouldn't'cha know.”  
Stark frowned at his glum attitude.  
“What happened?”

“I killed som'body las' night. An' you don' give a fuck wh'n 'm try'n t' talk t'you. Noooo”, Wayne slurred a trifle louder than before. “Y'go an 'ave fun in that thing”, he gestured with his bottle of beer into Tony's direction, sloshing some onto the tiles of the terrace. “Should'a known.” Confusion turned to vexation, and Tony put his arms akimbo with a multitude of electric whirrs.  
  
“I was halfway over the Pacific, with a shitty connection to match, and no, I was _not_ having fun. In fact, I was having anything _but_ fun, but that's an entirely different story.” With a disinterested snarl, Bruce waved him off. “Yeah, 's fine, r'lly. Don' both'r w'th me. Go get'cha som' more famous pussy, cause you're not gonna get'n my pants 'nymore.”  
  
Tony Stark blinked, looking like someone had just punched him right in the face. “Cut the crap, Bruce, that's so not your style.” The other man shook his head with ferocious disdain showing on his face. “Look who's talkin. Style, phsssh. You'n your shitty att'ude. 'lwys lookin for n'ther fuck t'add t'your playboy collection.” He took another swig, found the bottle empty, and threw it over the fence with an angry grunt.  
  
Tony's eyes followed its path until Bruce's slurred voice caught his attention. “Only one 'm more d'sg'sted bout is m'self for fallin' for it.” Wayne's face then twisted in drunken repulsion. He wobbly pointed all over Tony's suit. “Dis 's gonn' get'cha killed too at som' point. Might 'swell bed all you can get b'fore 't's too late.” Open hurt flashed up in Stark's eyes, but Wayne was too inebriated to see or realize.  
  
“None of that is true, Bruce, and you damn well know it!”  
Bruce made an off-kilter, dismissive gesture with his arms.  
“I know you're a f'ckin big baller who does'n' know wha' he wants 'n his life!”  
  
A gauntleted finger jabbed into his direction, followed by some high-pitched, electronic whine. “Like hell! I want _you!_ I may have never cared until I met you! But now I want to be with you, you fucking asshole!” At that, Wayne launched a crude laugh right into his face. “S'rry t' mess up y'r li'l rich'n perf'ct world, but I ain' fallin' f'that gain.”  
  
Tony ground his jaw and forced his palms to clench to prevent the repulsors from firing up. “I did it because you left me no other choice, you fucking stupid, fucking asshole!” Bruce stood up, swayed heavily on the spot, and had to take a clumsy sidestep to keep his balance. “I don' have'ta listen to this. Go. Leave. I don' need you'n my life!” Aghast Tony watched the glass door slam shut with a dull thud.  
  
“Yeah? That's why you're calling me on the verge of a mental breakdown? Because you don't need me?!”  
  
From where he leaned against the wall, eyes closed, the voice outside still reached Bruce's ears. As he turned to wobble towards his bathroom, Tony's yelling culminated. “Yeah, keep shutting me out, you fucker! That's gonna be real helpful!” An ignition-sounding kind of whoosh, a flash of energy, then there was only silence.  
  
When Bruce eventually opened the patio door after having held his head under the cold water of his shower for the longest time, Tony was gone. Taking a few, deep breaths of fresh evening air, he then saw it, albeit heavily intoxicated. There were big, metal footprints, all over the soil. They had crushed most herbs and plants. Hair dripping wet, Bruce clenched his teeth.  
  
“Fuck you too, Tony Stark.”

* * *

The phone rang through the haze of his post-drinking binge.  
  
It cut right through the silence of his apartment, and simultaneously his raging hangover. From where Bruce Wayne had passed out fully clothed on his bed, he blindly groped around for the shrill source of nuisance. “Mhmff... Wwwayne?” “Bruce? Bruce! I've been trying to reach you for hours!” Wincing from the shrill sound level on the other end, Bruce held the phone further from his ear. “W-who's this?”

“It's Pepper. Pepper Potts! Tony's assistant. I need your help, Bruce, please – Tony...”

Without waiting for him to get more coherent, her voice almost overturned as she rattled off information that made Bruce's head teeter on the verge of exploding. It eventually got him to stumble over into his bathroom soon after.  



	16. Chapter 16

A 40-minute cab ride later, Bruce Wayne found himself in the middle of nowhere, California. Outside of a huge black cubicle, he was greeted by the pale and shaken countenance of the redhead assistant. In between Pepper's ramblings about a person called Stane, something involving a sector 16, and an explosion at Stark Industries, Bruce grabbed her by the shoulders and gently shook her out of her emotional state of shock.

“Pepper, Pepper – stop! I need you to tell me what's wrong with him! Where is Tony?” She gulped in a couple of deeper breaths and darted blue eyes all over his unshaven face. “They're wanting to operate, but neither has any clue about Tony's reactor, and I don't want them to take matters into their own hands...” Fully alert, thanks to two Excedrin and a couple of Alka Seltzer, Bruce all but propelled her forward.

“Get me inside. Show me where.”

They stormed into the facility, down and along endless rows of neon-lit corridors. Despite her delicate stilettos, Pepper Potts matched his fast stride and led him into a medical bay. There, a huge window front greeted them, giving a good view onto a sleek, modern, hybrid operating room behind. From far away, Bruce was able to make out a familiar silhouette on the examination table and increased his pace.  
  
Four agents, roughly around his size, then intervened and stopped his steps.  
“No unauthorized individuals in this sector.”  
At the click of handcuffs, Bruce cast shocked eyes over to Pepper Potts.  
  
When her threats to leave him alone fell on deaf ears, she brandished a sleek device at them. As they were about to take a struggling Wayne into custody, Pepper then pressed the phone to her ear. “Agent Coulson! Agent Coulson – please!” A few moments later, a short, balding man appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. The redhead pointed at Bruce. “This is Mister Stark's personal doctor – tell them to let him in!”  
  
From where the agents had wrestled him against the wall, Bruce's wild eyes spotted movement behind the window. Four people dressed in PPE hovered around Stark's still figure, just about to use a biphasic defibrillator. Wayne strained against his aggressors, even more frantic. “NO! They cannot shock him! Tell them to stop! Immediately!” At his panted shout, Pepper and Coulson stared at him.  
  
The latter then indicated for the physicians to halter their motions, and Wayne took his chance. “If anything, try injecting Procainamide Hydrochloride solution! It's anti-arrhythmic!” Eventually, the balding man nodded at his team. “Release him.” Moving as one, the agents stepped back. Stone-faced, Coulson turned to a rumpled looking Bruce. “You've got two minutes.”  
  
With a push and a shove, the Gothamite then stumbled forward through a double door system, about to get his own set of a sterile cap, gloves, and coat. Before he entered the operating room, Bruce saw the strewn remains of Stark's armor in the corner at his feet, looking like they had been ripped off in a barbaric way. He swallowed against a wave of panic and made his way in.  
  
A gust of sterile air engulfed him. Laying there in a black, tattered undersuit, ARC flickering unsteady, Tony Stark was clammy and peripherally shut down with a BP of 80 systolic, much to Bruce's horror. A modern, 3D trans-thoracic Echocardiogram on the side then confirmed his suspicion. “Pericardial effusion, hemorrhagic. It needs to be drained immediately, or else he doesn't survive the next 30 minutes!”  
  
Bruce began to bark out orders at people he did not know. Much to his surprise, neither of the medics at hand dared to argue or intervene. “Get me 20 mg Propofol to inject every 20 seconds. Hurry!” The circulating nurse and anesthesiologist nodded from their place out of the sterile zone. The Gothamite then adjusted the pair of glasses with its fiber-optic headlight. Before his first cut, Wayne stilled briefly.  
  
“I got you... got you, dear – you'll be okay. It'll be okay. I'll fix this. I'll fix it.”  
  
With a final glimpse over to the monitors where Tony's vitals were spiking, Bruce fought for his hand to be steady atop the heaving ribcage and slid the knife square across the marred sternum. Sweat ran down his temples and dripped upon the table sheet as the Gothamite worked on the mangled body with nimble fingers. Underneath Tony's skin, he could feel the casing of the reactor hard against his knuckles.  
  
With one eye on the CT scanner, he found the fluid buildup fast. The placement of an indwelling pericardial catheter took two tries because Bruce fought hard to shake the images from his first failed surgery attempt from his mind. As he monitored the drainage with baited breath, the faint blue hues of the reactor began to increase their glow. It gave Bruce hope he was not too late in saving Tony's life.  
  
Half a dozen stitches later, Doctor Wayne dared to heave the first real breath after what seemed an eternity. Two unfocussed, brown eyes greeted him when he was about to feel his patient's forehead with his wrist. “Mh..uh.. h-hey.” Bruce felt a lump rising in his throat, but forced himself to smile back. “Hey yourself.” Tony drew in a wet-sounding, worrisome intake of breath. “M I dead n gon't'heav'n?”  
  
Wayne suppressed a shiver that wormed its way through his body.  
“No, you're alive and will be fine soon. Now just close your eyes and rest. Okay? For me?”  
A small smile tugged at one corner of Tony's split, bloodied lips.  
  
“'kay. L've you.”  
As his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he went limp, Bruce felt tears threatening him.  
“Love you, too.”  
  
He wiped a bloodied, sweated glove on his gown until he found it dry enough to run his fingers through Tony's dirty, matted hair. Stark's forehead still held a much too high temperature, and Bruce continued to mumble sweet nothings and caress his dark locks, until a rustling voice over the speakers interrupted his vigil. “Is he going to survive, Doctor?” Bracing himself against the table, Bruce nodded and straightened up.

With an aggressive sniff, he made his way through the double doors. Outside, the man named Coulson awaited him. Pepper and the agents were nowhere in sight, and Bruce's faint headache began to reappear. “Yes, from what I can say. He needs a lot of rest now, he's lost far too much blood.” Agent Coulson studied his jaded features with cold but clever eyes. “Very well then.” He made a subtle gesture down the corridor.  
  
“Don't take this personally, Doctor.”  
All of a sudden, a strange gun was pointed at his chest.  
Before Bruce had time to open his mouth, let alone raise his hands, everything went dark.

* * *

Bruce Wayne woke to the sound of birds singing outside. 

As he blinked his surroundings into view, he noticed he was laying in his own bed, completely dressed and unharmed. A thrumming behind the temple and the slightest feel of nausea set in once he shifted into a sitting position. Bright daylight shone back at him through half-open blinds. Wondering if he had just dreamed up the whole, grueling episode, he rubbed his neck and stood up.

Looking for his wallet and keys, Bruce found everything in the pockets of his pants.  
As he pulled out his private mobile, a text message blinked at him.  
“He's out of the woods. Thank you for everything. P.”

 

 _~epilog~_  
  
  
"The truth is - I am Iron Man."  
  
About to leave home after his latest shift, doctor Bruce Wayne stopped dead in his tracks and looked up at one of the many flat screen TVs at the Cedars Sinai reception area. He all but dropped the bag with dirty laundry as he watched the uproar that followed Tony's confession. “That guy's some loony alright.” Startled, Bruce stared at the tall, willowy elder patient who had materialized next to him.  
  
“Oh well. At least he's a rich loony. Am I right, sonny?” Too flabbergasted by the events on screen, Bruce only nodded along. He did not even acknowledge how the senior was being led away by his nurse, chiding him for escaping her custody. “Mister Lee, are we misbehaving again?” As soon as they were out of sight, the Gothamite also tore himself away from the live feed, determined to head home.

As he sat on the tram, Bruce mulled over the fact had not gotten around to see, hear, or talk to Tony after the accident, three days ago. All numbers he had tried had wound up dead, even the one from Pepper Potts. Never one for running after people, Wayne forced himself to let go.

Once he returned home, warm stifling air greeted him. Blowing out his cheeks, Bruce put the laundry bag aside and went to open the patio door to let some of the early and crisp morning air in. Out of habit, his gaze wandered along his little garden. He then stopped and stared. All previously destroyed flower beds had been restored with care. Within the neat rows of blossoming plants and herbs, he also spotted an unfamiliar addition.  
  
A miniscule orange tree throned right in the middle, its delicate little fruits looking like right out of a magazine.

Frowning, Bruce walked over to hunker down next to the little tree. After a closer examination, he reached out and picked a little white note from one of the branches. Reading the single sentence, his mouth curved into a small smile. Bruce then got back up and went inside, placing the note on the counter.

_You still need to tell me your favorite ice cream flavor.  
T._

_  
_ **END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: Personal protective equipment (PPE) is special equipment to protect patients and health care workers.  
> ++  
> A heartfelt 'Thank You' to each and everyone who took the time to read, kudo, and/or comment. Especially to Batsocks, who always encourages me to go with *yet* another strange AU idea, and who is the Jarvis to my Tony. Snarky and invaluable!


End file.
